only  tkat  you  treat  4 
ttiem  well  and  see 
them  safely  home 


/ 


ANNE'S   BRIDGE 


"  Once  her  lip  quivered,  instantly  bitten  under  control  " 

[PAGE  92] 


ANNE'S 
BRIDGE 

By  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

HENRY   HUTT 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

1914 


Copyright,    1914,  by 
ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 


"Once  her  lip  quivered,  instantly  bitten 
under  control  "  .         .         Frontispiece 

"  She  fell  back  into  step  beside  him  "      .       56 

"  He  had  said  good-night  to  her  ...  in 
the  candle-light "         ....     130 

"On   this  Christmas  Eve  I  have  come 
.  .  .  for  the  only  gift  I  desire"  .         .     158 


2226910 


ANNE'S  BRIDGE 


i 

At  Tamarack  Junction  he  left  the 
train  on  which  he  had  been  traveling 
all  day,  and,  leading  his  two  setters, 
Clarence  and  Mike,  followed  the  Pull- 
man porter,  who  was  carrying  his  lug- 
gage, across  the  main  tracks  to  the 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

branch  line.  The  dogs,  Clarence,  a 
Belton,  and  Mike,  an  Irish,  frisked  de- 
liriously on  being  delivered  from  the 
detested  baggage  car,  but  their  gam- 
boling was  strictly  in  accordance  with 
their  individual  characters;  the  hys- 
teria of  Clarence  was  not  unseemly ;  he 
cavorted  urbanely;  but  Mike's  Irish 
maxixe  betrayed  Milesian  abandon, 
and  he  punctuated  the  performance 
with  ear-rending  barks. 

The  train,  which  stood  on  the  branch 
line,  appeared  to  be  the  shabbiest  train 
which  the  young  man  had  ever  beheld. 

The  name  of  the  engine  was  the 
Emma,  painted  under  the  cab  window. 
Loving  hands  had  stuck  two  sunflow- 
ers into  the  sockets  on  the  pilot.  What 
the  vintage  of  the  rusty  locomotive 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

might  be  he  could  not  surmise,  but  the 
Emma  looked  as  though  she  had  been 
recently  lifted  out  of  a  frog-pond  and 
restored  to  traffic  by  a  wrecking  der- 
rick. He  said  as  much  to  the  porter, 
venturing  to  express  a  hope  that  she 
might  not  revisit  the  pond  while  he  was 
aboard. 

"Yaas,  suh,"  said  the  porter,  "dis- 
here  Emma  engine  done  jump  de  track 
mo'n  ten  er  six  times  sence  I  wuz  ac- 
quainted wif  de  engine  driver.  But  she 
don't  never  harm  nobody.  When  she 
fall  down  she  jess  natchally  lay  dere 
an'  fizzle  ca'm  as  a  cowcumber." 

"Do  you  suppose  the  Emma  is  go- 
ing to  do  anything  of  that  sort  to-day?" 
asked  the  young  man,  apprehensively. 

"Can't  say,  suh;  ef  her  wheels  gits 

3 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

to  runnin'  round  too  fas'  to  suit  her, 
dishere  Emma  engine  is  boun'  to  do 
some  buckin'." 

The  engineer,  a  fat,  placid  man, 
gazed  calmly  down  upon  them  from 
the  window  of  his  cab  as  they  passed 
along  the  rotting  platform. 

"Is  them  bird-dawgs?"  he  asked, 
catching  the  eye  of  their  owner. 

"Yes,  setters,"  said  the  young  man, 
whose  name  was  Dean. 

"Smell-dawgs?" 

"I  believe,"  said  Dean,  gravely,  "that 
they  may  be  so  designated." 

"Slick  lookers,"  remarked  the  engi- 
neer, doing  something  to  the  ap- 
paratus in  his  cab  which  suddenly  en- 
veloped the  Emma  in  a  volume  of 
steam.  Clarence  instantly  attempted  to 
4 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

flee  toward  the  horizon;  Mike  barked 
violently,  the  recoil  resembling  back- 
jumps  of  a  rapid-fire  gun.  For  a  few 
moments  master  and  dogs  performed 
one  of  those  newspaper  supplement 
designs,  popularly  supposed  to  repre- 
sent bodies  in  rapid  revolution — motion 
being  symbolized  by  a  series  of  circles. 

But  young  Dean  finally  obtained  con- 
trol and  hustled  the  dogs  aboard  the 
combination  baggage  and  passenger 
car,  which  with  the  Emma  and  her  ten- 
der made  up  the  train-de-luxe.  Sooth- 
ing and  chaining  the  dogs,  he  left  them 
after  a  few  minutes,  went  forward  into 
the  body  of  the  car  and  seated  himself 
in  the  rear  of  it. 

Presently  he  became  aware  of  weird 
noises  ahead,  emitted  by  the  locomo- 
5 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

tive;  the  bell  rang  mournfully;  a  cloud 
of  steam  blotted  out  the  immediate 
landscape;  the  Emma  was  in  process 
of  mobilization. 

The  landscape,  temporarily  blotted 
out,  had  been  remarkable  for  its  same- 
ness. It  consisted  entirely  of  woods. 

Half  an  hour  later  a  spectacled  con- 
ductor came  leisurely  through  the  aisle 
relieving  the  dozen  or  more  passengers 
of  their  tickets.  They  all  appeared  to 
be  personal  friends  of  his,  for  he 
paused  to  exchange  amenities  and  inti- 
mate gossip  with  everyone. 

When  at  length  he  reached  Dean  he 
took  the  ticket,  and,  examining  it  with 
serious  attention,  whistled  reflectively 
through  his  walrus  mustache  which  ob- 
ligate produced  an  seolian  harp  effect 
6 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

suggesting  a  room  full  of  stridulating 
insects. 

"Coin'  to  Anne's  Bridge?"  he  de- 
manded, gazing  at  Dean  over  his  spec- 
tacles. 

"If  you  don't  object,"  said  Dean, 
with  easy  humor. 

There  was  no  jocularity  about  the 
conductor:  "I'll  let  you  know  when  to 
git  off,"  he  said,  gloomily,  "but  don't 
blame  me!" 

"Doesn't  this  train  run  to  Anne's 
Bridge?"  asked  Dean. 

"It  don't  exactly  run  nowhere.  It 
jest  goes.  But  it  don't  go  to  Anne's 
Bridge." 

"What?" 

The  conductor  surveyed  him  pitying- 
ly: "No,  sir." 

7 


ANNE'S   BRIDGE 

And  as  he  started  on  he  added  half 
to  himself:  "And  nothing  else  don't  go 
to  Anne's  Bridge  if  they  can  he'p  their- 
selfs." 

Dean  wondered  why,  but  before  he 
could  make  further  inquiries  the  con- 
ductor disappeared  into  the  section  of 
the  car  devoted  to  express  and  freight. 

The  train  lurched  along  leisurely, 
slowing  every  now  and  then  to  a  humpy 
crawl.  Occasionally  its  progress  pro- 
duced a  squirming  motion  like  a  crip- 
pled caterpillar. 

Dean  continued  to  gaze  from  the 
dirty  window ;  there  were  woods  every- 
where, more  or  less  maltreated  as  is 
customary  in  America.  Now  and  then 
the  train  passed  through  dreary  burned 
areas  where  from  acres  of  ashes  black- 
8 


ened  tree  trunks  rose,  grotesquely 
charred  and  twisted  as  though  giants 
had  suffered  there  at  the  stake. 

Wet  looking  clouds  hung  low  over 
the  woods,  giving  to  the  region  a  mel- 
ancholy aspect.  The  car  was  hot  and 
ill-smelling;  a  child  cried  continually. 
Now  and  then  the  train  stopped;  Dean 
could  not  make  out  why:  there  were 
no  sidings;  no  other  train  passed.  He 
finally  concluded  that  the  locomotive 
merely  ran  down  now  and  then  and 
had  to  be  wound  up  again. 

After  one  of  these  almost  intermin- 
able delays  the  conductor  who  had 
been  sitting  on  the  rear  seat  across  the 
aisle,  playing  solitaire,  finally  laid  aside 
his  cards  and  went  forward  apparently 
to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

9 


ANNE'S   BRIDGE 

He  returned  in  the  course  of  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour,  reseated  himself,  re- 
wetted  his  thumbs,  and  resumed  his 
cards. 

Dean  leaned  forward  across  the 
aisle: 

"What's  the  trouble?"  he  asked. 

"No  trouble,"  replied  the  preoccu- 
pied conductor. 

"Why  has  the  train  stopped?" 

"It's  the  engineer.     He's  fishin'." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Dean. 

"He's  fishin',"  repeated  the  conduc- 
tor. "Last  trip  east  he  seen  a  big  trout 
lyin'  in  under  the  bridge,  and  he  said 
he  meant  to  git  him  some  day." 

"Are  you  telling  me  that  the  engi- 
neer has  stopped  this  train  to  catch  a 
trout?' 

10 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"Waal,  he's  got  the  right  to  fish  a 
spell  if  he's  a  min'  to,  h'ain't  he?" 

"But  I  want  to  go  to  Anne's 
Bridge " 

"You'll  git  there,  son,"  said  the  con- 
ductor, tranquilly  wetting  his  thumb 
again  and  shuffling  up  the  cards.  Ab- 
sorbed in  his  new  lay-out  he  replied 
only  vaguely  to  Dean's  protests. 

"Gosh-a-mighty,"  he  commented, 
"folks  must  be  in  a  dinged  hurry  where 
you  come  from." 

None  of  the  other  passengers  ap- 
peared to  be  impatient;  nobody  seemed 
to  resent  the  piscatorial  enterprise  of 
the  engineer. 

After  a  while  Dean  rose,  exasper- 
ated, went  to  the  platform,  and  de- 
scended. 

2  II 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

Just  ahead  was  an  iron  bridge  un- 
der which  a  stream  flowed.  Leaning 
against  a  girder  stood  a  fat  man  in 
blue  overalls,  fishing.  Dean  walked 
forward;  the  engineer  looked  around 
at  him  placidly  as  he  came  up: 

"The  son-uva-gun  won't  bite,"  he 
remarked,  intent  on  his  line.  "Worms 
is  no  good  in  August." 

He  yawned,  spat  into  the  water  re- 
flectively, then  began  to  reel  in:  "No, 
sir,  worms  won't  do.  I'll  try  him  next 
trip  with  a  grasshopper,"  he  added. 
"An'  if  he  won't  take  that,  b'gosh,  I'll 
try  a  minnie-fish.  Say,  son,  I'll  git  that 
trout  if  I  hev  to  set  here  all  day  next 
trip!" 

They  turned  and  walked  toward  the 
train  together. 

12 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"You  was  the  young  man  with  the 
smell-dawgs,  wasn't  you?"  inquired 
the  engineer,  affably. 

Dean  nodded. 

"Where  was  you  a-cal'latin'  f'r  to 
hunt  'em?" 

"I'm  going  to  Anne's  Bridge.  I  un- 
derstand there  are  plenty  of  woodcock 
and  partridge  there." 

"Anne's  Bridge!"  repeated  the  engi- 
neer, halting  beside  the  Emma  where 
his  fireman  lay  asleep  on  top  of  the 
heap  of  coal  in  the  tender. 

"Yes.  How  far  is  it  to  Anne's 
Bridge?" 

"  'Tain't  a  great  ways." 

"The  conductor  tells  me  there  is  no 
station  at  Anne's  Bridge." 

"Station !    No  sir." 

13 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"Then  how  do  you  go  there?" 

"Me?    /  don't  go  there." 

Dean  smiled:  "How  do  /  go  there?" 
he  asked,  patiently. 

"Waal,  if  you're  fixed  onto  goin'  to 
Anne's  Bridge  I'll  stop  the  train  som'- 
ers  along — along  the  track  som'ers — " 
he  waved  his  fat  hand,  vaguely  includ- 
ing all  the  horizons. 

"But  I  am  to  be  met  by  somebody 
from  Anne's  Bridge." 

"\Yaal,  if  I  see  anybody  on  the  track 
I'll  stop.  \Yill  that  fix  you  up,  son?" 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Dean. 

The  Emma  presently  wreathed  her- 
self in  steam,  scuffled  her  driving- 
wheels,  coughed  like  Camille  in  the  last 
act,  and  shuffled  forward  protesting 
with  every  melancholy  bell-note. 

14 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

Some  twenty  minutes  later  the  train 
stopped  as  though  it  had  been  maimed 
for  life;  the  conductor  looked  out  of 
the  window,  laid  aside  his  cards  and 
got  up  with  a  terrific  yawn. 

"I  guess  you  git  off  here,"  he  said 
to  Dean  who  had  already  risen.  "I'll 
jest  set  your  valise  alongside  the  rails; 
you'd  better  git  your  dawgs  out  your- 
se'f." 

When  Dean  emerged,  rather  badly 
mixed  with  his  scrambling  dogs,  he 
saw  the  engineer,  the  fireman,  the  con- 
ductor, and  the  passengers  all  intently 
watching  a  young  woman  in  a  sun- 
bonnet  and  a  pink  print  dress. 

On  an  old  logging  road  beside  the 
track  stood  a  horse  and  wagon. 

The  occupants  of  the  train  were  ap- 
15 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

parently  much  interested  in  the  pro- 
ceedings; even  the  Emma,  somehow, 
appeared  to  be  lingering  there  out  of 
sheer  feminine  curiosity. 

Dean  grasped  both  leashes  in  one 
hand  and  took  off  his  hat  with  the 
other. 

"I  am  James  Dean,"  he  said.  "Is 
that  Mr.  Allende's  wagon?" 

She  replied  in  a  self-possessed  voice 
that  the  wagon  was  for  him  and  his 
luggage. 

Dean  had  about  all  he  could  do 
with  the  struggling  dogs,  but  he  picked 
up  the  heaviest  luggage  and  the 
young  woman  took  the  rods  and  gun- 
cases. 

When  the  wagon  had  been  loaded 
and  the  dogs  unleashed,  and  when  the 
16 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

young  woman  in  the  sun-bonnet  and 
pink  print  dress  had  taken  the  reins; 
and  Dean  had  climbed  into  the  seat  be- 
side her,  the  Emma  emitted  a  remark 
which  was  more  like  a  gigantic  femi- 
nine sniff  than  a  whistle.  And  the 
train  slowly  and  reluctantly  moved  on, 
engineer,  fireman,  conductor,  and  pas- 
sengers all  looking  back  until  the  trees 
finally  blanketed  their  view. 

The  old  logging  road  was  moist  and 
springy  but  very  uneven;  the  horse 
walked,  now  and  then  tearing  a  mouth- 
ful of  leaves  from  neighboring  branch- 
es, snatching  at  blackberry  vines, 
munching  and  switching  at  flies  as  he 
proceeded  on  his  easy  way. 

The  dogs  had  already  performed 
hundreds  of  marathons  around  the 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

moving  wagon,  galloping  in  sheer  ec- 
stacy  of  freedom  after  the  long  day's 
hot  confinement. 

"Do  you  usually  meet  Mr.  Allende's 
boarders  ?"  asked  the  young  man,  pleas- 
antly, after  the  first  and  natural  inter- 
val of  silence. 

As  the  girl  turned  to  reply  her  sun- 
bonnet  fell  back  on  her  shoulders.  She 
was  a  superbly  healthy  young  thing. 

"There  is  no  Mr.  Allende,"  she  ex- 
plained, briefly.  "I  answered  your  let- 
ter." 

"Oh.     You  are  Mrs.  Allende?" 

"Miss  Allende,"  she  replied. 

"The  letter  I  had  in  answer  to  mine 
was  signed  'A.  Allende.'  I  didn't  un- 
derstand." 

She  said  nothing. 
18 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"Have  you  many  boarders?"  he 
asked,  pleasantly. 

"No." 

"I  suppose  the  cool  summer  has 
made  it  a  bad  season.  People  remain 
in  town." 

"I  don't  know." 

"Perhaps  you  have  not  been  ac- 
customed to  boarding  people  from  the 
city." 

"No." 

"Is  this  your  first  venture?" 

"Yes." 

Her  quiet  monosyllables  rather 
amused  than  disconcerted  him.  There 
seemed  to  be  nothing  sullen  in  her  reti- 
cence. So  he  ventured  to  make  con- 
versation as  it  suited  him. 

"In    the    advertisement    inserted    in 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

Rod-and-Reel  you  say  that  the  trout 
fishing  is  good  and  that  there  are 
woodcock  and  partridge  in  season." 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

"I  suppose  what  boarders  you  have 
are  sportsmen,"  he  went  on. 

She  bit  her  lip,  lightly,  looking 
straight  ahead  between  her  horse's 
ears. 

"Nobody  has  answered  my  advertise- 
ment excepting  you,"  she  admitted. 

Not  displeased  that  he  was  to  have 
the  streams  and  coverts  to  himself,  yet 
sorry  for  her,  he  remained  silent.  She 
sat  silent,  too,  and  very  straight,  her 
folded  hands  resting  on  the  reins  in  her 
lap — a  gracefully  motionless  chario- 
teer— a  tinted  rural  statue  in  pink 
print. 

20 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"Is  Anne's  Bridge  pretty?"  he  asked, 

"Not  very.  .  .  .  No." 

"It's  a  pretty  name,  anyway.  Who 
was  Anne?" 

"Somebody  who  lived  there,  I  be- 
lieve— years  ago." 

"Isn't  there  any  tradition  concerning 
the  name?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said,  indiffer- 
ently. 

The  horse  walked  forward  switching 
his  tail;  the  dogs,  wagon  broken,  were 
now  trotting  behind,  tongues  lolling. 

Presently  the  woods  opened;  a  roll- 
ing country  covered  with  second 
growth  spread  away  before  them  and 
the  road  became  sandy. 

The   girl    spoke   to   her   horse   who 
broke  into  a  bored  sort  of  trot. 
21 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

Root  fences,  silvered  by  age,  lined 
the  road.  Beyond,  on  either  side,  lay 
fields. 

They  passed  a  cemetery,  the  head 
stones  showing  intensely  white  amid 
thin  wild  grasses  and  spindling  maples. 
Beyond  stood  a  deserted  house,  the 
roof  fallen  in;  beyond  that  were  a  few 
other  houses  in  various  conditions  of  de- 
cay, some  still  inhabited  judging  by  the 
shy,  wild  looking  children  who  clustered 
to  gaze  at  them  as  they  drove  past. 

"We  are  in  Anne's  Bridge,"  said  the 
girl. 

After  a  moment  she  turned  and 
looked  at  him. 

"It  isn't  pretty,  you  see,"  she  added, 
with  a  composure  which  he  thought  a 
trifle  forced. 

22 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

He  glanced  ahead  and  saw  half  a 
dozen  unpainted  and  scattered  houses 
partly  buried  in  woodbine  and  clematis. 
Groups  of  great  trees  shaded  the  re- 
mains of  the  village,  elms,  oaks,  and 
maples.  And  just  ahead  was  a  stone 
bridge  arching  a  clear,  tumbling 
stream;  and,  under  a  dozen  huge  trees, 
an  old  yellow  house  fronted  the  water 
beside  the  bridge. 

Phlox,  tiger  lilies,  marigolds,  and  pe- 
tunias made  a  tangle  of  color  in  the 
front  yard:  behind  the  house  were 
sandy  fields,  a  barn,  and  a  belt  of 
woods  into  which  the  stream  flowed. 

"Why  did  you  say  that  Anne's 
Bridge  is  not  pretty?"  he  said.  "Is 
this  your  house?" 

"Yes." 

23 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"It's  exceedingly  picturesque.  So  is 
that  brook.  I  shall  be  more  than  con- 
tented here,  Miss  Allende." 

The  girl  threw  the  reins  over  the 
horse's  back  but  remained  seated  for 
a  moment  looking  down  at  the  dogs. 
They  were  drinking  at  the  brook ;  Clar- 
ence drank  like  a  gentleman;  Mike 
slobbered  and  lay  down  in  the  water, 
gulping. 

Dean  descended  and  offered  to  aid 
the  girl  but  she  rose  and  sprang  to 
the  grass  on  the  other  side. 

"I  haven't  any  servants,"  she  re- 
marked; "I'll  take  your  baggage/' 

But  he  smilingly  intervened  and  lift- 
ed his  traps  from  the  wagon. 

"Please — if   you   will    follow   me — ' 
And  she  walked  into   the   open  door- 
24 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

way  and  unlatched  a  door  on  the 
left. 

It  was  a  bed-room ;  she  left  him  there 
surrounded  by  his  luggage. 

Although  all  the  windows  were  open 
there  was  in  the  room  the  odor  of  long 
disuse. 

In  the  late  gray  afternoon  light  he 
looked  around  at  the  bare  ugliness  of 
it  all — the  iron  bed,  the  cheap  water 
basin  and  pitcher,  the  square  of  coarse 
new  carpet  on  the  floor,  the  single 
highly  varnished  chair. 

But  there  was  fresh  water  in  the 
pitcher,  and  presently  he  was  busy 
with  his  toilet. 

Clarence  came  to  his  door,  politely 
scratching;  Mike  bounded  in,  wagging 
and  snooping  about  the  room;  and 
25 


ANNE'S   BRIDGE 

their  master  continued  his  dressing 
until  a  gray  flannel  shirt  and  knick- 
erbockers replaced  his  civilized  at- 
tire. 

Perfumes  from  the  kitchen  became 
agreeably  apparent  by  the  time  he  was 
ready  to  emerge  from  his  room. 

The  girl,  carrying  a  lighted  candle, 
met  him  as  he  appeared.  Her  sleeves 
were  rolled  up  and  the  heat  of  the 
range  had  tinted  her  cheeks  and  left  a 
faint  dew  on  her  white  forehead. 

"Your  supper  is  ready,"  she  said. 
And  he  followed  her  to  the  rear  where 
an  alcove  from  the  kitchen  formed  the 
dining-room. 

On  the  table  was  a  thin  worn  cloth, 
very  clean ;  a  plate  of  stoneware,  a  new 
knife  and  fork  with  wooden  handles, 
26 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

and  two  candles  burning  in  tin  candle 
sticks. 

From  the  kitchen  around  the  corner 
the  girl  brought  a  plate  of  crisp  trout, 
fried  potatoes,  hot  biscuits,  a  dish  of 
blue-berries,  and  a  jug  of  milk. 

"Where  did  these  come  from?"  he 
asked,  smilingly,  helping  himself  to  the 
trout. 

"From  the  brook  in  front  of  the 
house." 

"That's  encouraging,"  he  remarked, 
cheerfully. 

She  made  no  comment. 

Whether  it  was  merely  appetite  or 
whether  the  food  was  particularly  well 
cooked  he  did  not  stop  to  think,  but 
he  ate  everything  he  saw. 

From  moment  to  moment  the  girl 
3  27 


ANNE'S   BRIDGE 

came  in  from  the  kitchen  in  silent 
inquiry  concerning  his  needs.  When 
she  returned  again  the  young  man 
rose: 

"In  your  advertisement,"  he  said, 
pleasantly,  "you  say  that  a  guide  can 
be  furnished.  I  shall  need  him  to-mor- 
row. So  if  you  will  kindly  notify 
him " 

She  stared  a  moment  as  though  in 
hesitation,  then: 

"I  meant  that  7  could  show  anybody 
where  to  fish  or  shoot.  There's  no- 
body else  to  do  it." 

Dean  looked  up  surprised  and  dubi- 
ous. 

"I  understand  fishing  and  shooting. 
I  often  go  by  myself,"  she  said  in  a 
low  voice. 

28 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"I  see.  Well,  in  that  case  you  ought 
to  be  as  good  a  guide  as  anybody,"  he 
returned  gaily. 

"Did  you  wish  to  start  early?"  she 
asked,  lifting  her  dark  eyes. 

He  hesitated:  "I  suppose  you  have 
housework  to  do." 

"Yes.  But  I  can  be  ready  when- 
ever you  wish." 

"What  have  you  to  do  first?"  he  in- 
quired. 

She  looked  at  him  in  slight  surprise, 
then  a  faint  smile  curved  her  lips — the 
first  deviation  from  emotionless  com- 
posure that  he  had  yet  noticed. 

She  said:  "If  you  care  to  know,  I 
have  a  cow  to  milk,  a  horse  to  feed, 
eggs  to  gather,  a  fire  to  light,  break- 
fast to  prepare,  beds  to  air,  floors  to 
29 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

sweep,  dishes  to  wash,  a  little  work  in 
the  garden,  in  the  kitchen " 

"Good  heavens!"  he  exclaimed,  so 
genuinely  astonished  that  the  latent 
smile  on  her  lips  flashed  out. 

"These  things  take  a  little  time,"  she 
admitted,  "but  I  shall  rise  earlier  than 
usual  and  I  do  not  think  I  shall  keep 
you  waiting,  Mr.  Dean." 

"I  don't  want  to  inconvenience 
you " 

"You  don't  inconvenience  me.  I  ex- 
pected to  guide  anybody  who  came 
here  to  fish.  I  am  very  glad  to  do  it." 

He  remained  silent  and  unconvinced, 
looking  uncertainly  at  her  where  she 
stood  in  the  candle  light. 

"I  don't  want  to  make  a  nuisance  of 
myself — "  he  began. 
30 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"I  am  very  thankful  to  have  any- 
body to  board,"  she  said,  simply. 

So  he  walked  away  and  seated  him- 
self on  the  flat,  water-worn  rock  which 
served  as  a  doorstep. 

His  dogs  came  up  to  greet  him,  wag- 
ging apology,  then  returned  to  the 
platter  of  bones  by  the  doorstep.  Dean, 
from  the  pockets  of  his  shooting  coat, 
added  a  few  dog  biscuits  to  their  re- 
past, then  lighted  his  pipe,  clasped  his 
knees  between  his  hands,  and  gazed  out 
into  the  darkness. 

Starlight  sparkled  on  the  stream  just 
beyond  the  deeper  shade  of  an  enor- 
mous elm;  the  rushing  noise  of  the 
water  was  in  his  ears;  a  fresh  fra- 
grance grew  in  the  still  night  air;  con- 
tentment grew  within  him. 


ANNE'S   BRIDGE 

Beyond  the  bridge  a  few  lighted  win- 
dows in  the  scattered  houses  gleamed 
through  the  trees.  But  the  candles 
were  extinguished  very  soon,  one  after 
another.  It  was  evident  that  early 
hours  were  the  fashion  at  Anne's 
Bridge. 

Now  and  then  he  could  hear  sounds 
in  the  house  behind  him  indicative  of 
various  domestic  duties  in  process  of 
execution — the  clink  of  dishes,  light, 
swift  footsteps  across  the  creaking 
boards. 

She  came  out  to  the  doorstep  where 
he  was  seated,  after  a  while,  wearing 
a  clean  white  waist  and  skirt.  They 
were  limp  and  mended  in  many  places; 
but  it  was  dark ;  and  probably  he  would 
not  have  noticed  it  anyway. 
32 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"This  is  very  charming  and  peace- 
ful/' he  said,  pleasantly,  as  he  rose. 
"I  am  wondering  what  that  haunting 
fragrance  is." 

She  lifted  her  dainty  nose  and  sniffed 
the  air: 

"Bergamot,"  she  said,  looking  out 
into  the  darkness. 

"May  I  bring  you  a  chair?"  he  sug- 
gested. 

She  thanked  him  but  said  that  she 
was  going  to  retire  in  a  few  minutes. 
However,  presently  she  seated  herself 
on  the  doorsill,  and  he  resumed  his 
place  on  the  doorstep  below. 

"I  have  been  wondering,"  he  re- 
marked, "why  the  little  village  here 
is  not  more  prosperous.  It's  a  pretty 
country." 

33 


ANNE'S   BRIDGE 

She  sat  silent  for  a  while,  her  chin 
supported  by  one  hand,  elbow  on  knee. 

"The  place  is  ruined,"  she  said  in  a 
colorless  voice.  "Only  those  remain 
who  are  too  poor  to  go." 

"Ruined !"  he  repeated. 

"The  soil  is  poor.  It  is  not  possible 
to  make  a  living  from  sand  and  rock." 

"But  why  did  people  come  here  and 
clear  the  land  for  farms?" 

"That  was  long  ago.  Forest  mold 
covered  the  sandy  soil.  Farmers 
plowed  a  shallow  furrow.  .  .  .  You 
would  scarcely  believe  it,  Mr.  Dean, 
but  there  was  a  flourishing  village  here 
seventy  years  ago — sawmills,  tanneries, 
a  newspaper.  And  some  farms  were 
even  being  marked  out  into  city  lots." 

She  sat,  now,  with  both  hands  fram- 
34 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

ing  her  face,  her  dark  eyes  staring 
straight  before  her. 

"It  is  the  history  of  other  villages 
in  this  county.  They  cut  away  the 
woods  and  peeled  the  hemlock  bark. 
When  these  were  gone  nothing  re- 
mained except  the  land,  and  that 
proved  to  be  only  sand  under  the  thin 
surface  soil." 

She  made  a  slight  discouraged  ges- 
ture: 

"You  guess  the  rest;  drought  and 
winds  dried  up  and  blew  away  the  soil ; 
sand  is  not  worth  cultivating;  mills 
were  abandoned  when  the  timber  had 
gone:  tan-vats  fell  into  ruins;  people 
left  their  houses  and  went  elsewhere. 
And  Anne's  Bridge  became — what  you 


see." 


35 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

Dean  was  already  wondering  how  it 
was  that  she  existed  there — how  she 
contrived  to  live  amid  the  ruins  of 
such  a  remote  rural  desolation. 

"This  would  make  a  splendid  pre- 
serve for  some  wealthy  man,  or 
for  some  club,"  he  suggested,  cheer- 
fully. 

The  idea  seemed  new  to  her. 

"Land  here  ought  to  be  picked  up  for 
almost  nothing,"  he  went  on,  developing 
his  theory.  "The  waters  certainly  look 
like  trout  waters;  the  cover  is  mostly 
second-growth  and  excellent  for  game. 
There's  lots  of  marketable  white  pine 
and  hemlock,  too — enough  to  afford  an 
income  to  anybody  who  started  scien- 
tific forestry  here." 

He  turned  and  encountered  her  dark 
36 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

eyes.  They  were  regarding  him  intent- 
ly, almost  wistfully. 

"Do  you  think  it  possible,"  she  said, 
"that  anybody  could  want  land  at 
Anne's  Bridge?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  could  tell  better 
to-morrow."  He  hesitated,  then  added 
with  a  smile:  "Have  you  any  woodland 
here?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  there  much  of  it?" 

"Yes." 

He  thought  for  a  moment,  conscious 
all  the  while  that  her  eyes  were  fixed 
on  him. 

"Could  we  take  a  look  at  it  to-mor- 
row?" he  suggested. 

"Yes.    The  stream  runs  through  it." 

After  a  moment's  silence  she  rose, 
37 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

said  good  night  and  went  away  into 
the  unlighted  house. 

Dean  resumed  his  seat.  His  dogs 
came  and  lay  down  beside  him,  resting 
their  silky  heads  on  his  knees. 

Around  him  in  the  darkness  stood 
the  crumbling  ruins  of  human  hopes. 
He  could  not  see  them,  but  he  seemed 
to  feel  the  presence  of  each  stark,  dis- 
mantled habitation.  And  those  still  in- 
habited seemed  even  sadder  in  the  proc- 
ess of  decay  over  the  very  heads  of 
their  destitute  and  hopeless  tenants. 

"What  a  place  to  be  caged  in,"  he 
muttered  to  himself  under  his  breath— 
"with  no  chance  to  escape!     What  a 
place  to  be  trapped  in,  with  no  money, 
no  hope,  no  aid!     The  poor  are  better 
off  in  the  slums;  they  die  quicker." 
38 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

And  all  the  while  the  memory  of  her 
dark,  wistful  eyes  persisted,  of  her  pas- 
sionless voice,  of  her  flushed  cheeks 
and  dewy  forehead  as  she  came  from 
the  kitchen  fire  with  his  supper — and, 
remoter  memory — her  pink  dress  and 
sunbonnet — fallen  to  her  shoulders 

He  tried  to  account  for  her,  and 
could  not.  He  wondered  why  she  was 
alone  in  such  a  house,  living  in  such 
a  place.  Her  soft  voice  and  accent, 
her  choice  of  words  and  vocabulary 
forbade  any  idea  that  she  had  always 
lived  here. 

She  must  be  somewhere  between 
twenty  and  twenty-five — he  could  not 
guess  any  nearer  than  that — could 
form  no  conclusion  from  the  vigorous 
young  figure  under  the  pink  print 

39 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

dress,  nor  from  her  light  swift  move- 
ments, nor  yet  from  her  face  tanned 
to  a  creamy  tint  and  touched  with  car- 
nation on  lip  and  cheek. 

The  girl  appeared  to  be  educated,  un- 
usually pretty,  unusually  silent — with 
that  silence  which  comes  from  no  sur- 
feit of  happiness. 

Yet  she  was  not  sullen  either — not 
naturally  lacking  in  animation,  he  im- 
agined. 

But  it  seemed  to  him  as  he  sat  think- 
ing of  her  that  something  had  been 
killed  in  her — the  careless  insouciance 
of  youth — something  swift  had  killed 
it  suddenly,  not  by  degrees;  and  had 
slain  with  it  other  and  naturally  youth- 
ful qualities. 

In  her  eyes,  and  under  them,  and 
40 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

in  the  rather  sweet  curve  of  her  mouth 
he  had  detected  no  traces  such  as  the 
slow  erosion  of  long  unhappy  years 
leaves  visible — no  hardness,  either,  no 
imprint  of  trouble  long  endured  and 
long  resented. 

And,  after  thinking  for  another  hour, 
he  did  not  know  what  to  think.  So  he 
rose  and  walked  through  the  star- 
light to  the  barn.  Here  he  left  his 
clogs  wagging  their  tails  madly  where 
they  lay  on  the  fresh  sweet  straw  look- 
ing back  at  him.  Then  he  returned  to 
his  room. 

And  in  a  very  few  minutes  he  was 
sound  asleep. 


II 

When  he  appeared  in  the  morning 
dressed  in  flannel  shirt,  knickerbockers, 
and  hob-nailed  shoes,  his  dogs,  who  had 
been  awaiting  him,  greeted  him  with 
the  manners  characteristic  of  each, 
Clarence  cordially  but  with  every  mark 
of  good  breeding,  Mike  boisterously 
and  with  so  much  noise  that  the  mis- 
42 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

tress  of  the  house  came  from  the  kitch- 
en to  reconnoitre. 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Allende,"  said 
Dean.  "Have  you  already  accom- 
plished those  amazingly  complicated  du- 
ties which  you  mentioned  to  me  last 
evening?" 

The  ghost  of  a  smile  curved  her  lips : 
"I  have  accomplished  everything  neces- 
sary except  your  breakfast,  Mr. 
Dean." 

"I'll  accomplish  that  when  it's 
ready." 

"It  is  ready." 

So  he  walked  into  the  dining  alcove 
and  presently  became  very  busy  with 
coffee,  eggs,  cereal,  and  hot  Johnny- 
cake. 

"Miss  Allende,"  he  said,  "your  cook- 

4  43 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

ing  is  absolutely  delicious.  That  is  not 
a  compliment;  it  is  a  tribute." 

She  was  smiling  while  he  spoke,  then 
a  swift  change  altered  her  features. 
She  said  in  a  low  and  somewhat  hur- 
ried voice  that  she  was  glad  he  found 
the  breakfast  to  his  taste;  and  she  went 
into  the  kitchen  again. 

Later  he  picked  up  his  rod  and 
strolled  out  to  the  door-step.  Here 
he  lighted  his  pipe,  drew  the  silk  line 
from  the  reel  through  the  guides  of  his 
four-ounce  rod,  knotted  on  a  nine-foot 
leader  and  a  single  fly,  and,  standing 
on  the  grass  under  the  big  elm,  prac- 
ticed a  cast  or  two  with  much  satisfac- 
tion. 

"Aha !"  he  observed  to  Mike,  the  red 
Irish  setter,  "if  any  trout  are  look- 

44 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

ing  for  trouble  to-day  they'll  find 
plenty." 

"Plenty  of  trouble!  Plenty  of  trou- 
ble !"  said  a  voice  behind  him  in  a  light 
conversational  tone:  "I  wish  you  a 
Merry  Christmas !" 

Dean  turned  around,  surprised,  but 
could  see  nobody. 

Perplexed,  he  stood  looking  about 
him  for  a  moment  or  two,  then,  chanc- 
ing to  lift  his  eyes  a  trifle  he  found 
himself  gazing  at  a  gray  African  par- 
rot which  was  seated  just  above  him  on 
the  limb  of  an  ancient  apple  tree. 

''Plenty  of  trouble!"  repeated  the 
parrot,  staring  at  Dean  out  of  a  cold 
pale  eye. 

"Hello!"  said  Dean,  affably;  "how 
are  you?" 

45 


"I'm  in  trouble,"  remarked  the  par- 
rot. 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  that,"  said  Dean, 
smiling. 

"Plenty  of  trouble,  plenty  of  trou- 
ble," repeated  the  bird,  gravely  lifting 
one  claw,  then  the  other.  Then  seiz- 
ing the  branch  with  powerful  beak  he 
turned  completely  over  and  hung  head 
downward  surveying  Dean  with  a  sort 

• 

of  sinister  seriousness. 

"Plenty  of  trouble,"  he  said,  hoarse- 
ly; "I  wish  you  a  Merry  Christmas!" 

The  dogs,  astounded,  stood  staring 
as  though  frozen.  Never  had  they 
beheld  such  a  fearsome  fowl  in  all 
their  wide  experience  with  feathered 
game. 

It  was  Mike  who  stirred  first,  lifting 
46 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

one  paw  and  making  a  shivering,  half- 
hearted attempt  to  point. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  burst  out  the  parrot. 
And  the  dogs  gave  it  one  horrified 
glance  and  fled. 

Dean  was  laughing  without  restraint 
as  Miss  Allende  came  to  the  door. 

"Aunty,"  she  said  sternly  to  the  par- 
rot, "are  you  making  more  trouble?" 

"Plenty — plenty  of  trouble,"  admit- 
ted the  parrot,  sliding  along  the  branch 
toward  the  girl  who  lifted  her  hand 
and  took  the  bird  on  her  forefinger. 

"Does  Aunty  go  about  outdoors  at 
will?"  asked  Dean,  much  amused. 

"Yes;    she    follows    me    about,    or 

climbs  into  the  trees."    The  girl  placed 

a  melon  seed  between  her  lips;  Aunty 

took  it,  cracked  it  and  proceeded  to  en- 

47 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

joy  it  at  leisure.  After  a  few  moments 
Miss  Allende  transferred  the  bird  to 
the  apple  bough. 

"If  you  are  ready,  Mr.  Dean,"  she 
said,  quietly. 

The  girl  herself  was  evidently  ready 
for  the  woods;  she  wore  a  faded  waist 
of  gray  flannel  open  at  the  throat,  a 
skirt  of  the  same  considerably  shrunk- 
en, and  heavy  little  boots  and  leggins. 
Straps  crossed  her  breast;  from  one 
hung  a  canvas  bag,  empty,  from  the 
other  another  bag,  containing  lunch- 
eon. 

"I'll  take  those,"  he  said. 

"Thank  you,  it  is  not  necessary." 

He  smiled:  "As  you  like,  Miss  Al- 
lende. But  you  need  not  feel  that 
there  are  any  duties  of  a  guide  in- 
48 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

cumbent  upon  you  except  to  show  me 
where  to  fish  and  take  care  that  I  don't 
get  lost." 

For  a  moment  she  seemed  embar- 
rassed, then,  in  a  grave,  hesitating 
voice:  "I  am  asking  a  dollar  a  day  for 
guiding  you.  I  should  have  told  you 
that  yesterday." 

"A  dollar  a  day!"  he  repeated,  in 
laughing  surprise. 

She  flushed  painfully:  "Yes.  Does 
it  seem  to  you  too  much?" 

He  laughed  outright.  "The  guides 
north  of  us  get  five  dollars  a  day.  You 
are  asking  me  too  little,  Miss  Allende." 

"Five  dollars — a  day!"  she  faltered, 
astonished;  "that  is — is  absurd!" 

He  was  still  laughing:  "Let  us  com- 
promise on  two  and  a  half — as  long  as 
49 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

you  are  to  carry  no  pack  and  do  no 
camp  work." 

"I  cannot  ask  so  much — merely  to 
go  with  you — 

''I  should  feel  very  uncomfortable  if 
you  do  not  ask  me  that  much  at  least," 
he  insisted. 

She  lifted  her  troubled  eyes  to  his, 
unresponsive  to  the  frank  amusement 
in  his. 

"I  had  rather  you  did  not  offer  me 
so  much,"  she  said. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because" — and  she  became  graver, 
"I  do  not  think  I  am  worth  it,  or  that 
you — you  can  afford  it." 

Varying  and  inscrutable  emotions 
possessed  him  and  were  reflected  in 
his  features;  but  he  managed  to  sub- 
50 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

due  every  trace  of  amusement  when  he 
spoke. 

"Why  don't  you  think  I  can  afford  it, 
Miss  Allende?"  he  asked  pleasantly. 

Her  frank  brown  eyes  met  his:  "Be- 
cause you  are  boarding  with  me  for 
ten  dollars  a  week,  Mr.  Dean." 

He  nodded  thoughtfully:  "I  see.  A 
man  who  could  afford  a  fashionable  re- 
sort does  not  board  at  Anne's  Bridge 
for  ten  dollars  a  week.  That,  of  course, 
is  obvious  and  logical,  isn't  it?" 

She   bit   her   lip:    "I    did   not   mean 

"Of  course  not.  It  was  kind  and 
thoughtful  of  you.  A  man  on  his  vaca- 
tion goes  where  he  can  afford  to  go. 
I  came  here  for  my  vacation — the 
terms  you  offered  being  what  I  could 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

afford."  He  smiled  gayly:  "So  if  you 
ask  me  only  a  dollar  a  day  for  guiding 
me,  maybe  I  can  afford  to  remain  here 
a  little  longer.  .  .  .  So,  if  you  wish,  I 
agree  to  that." 

She  stood  motionless,  her  hands  rest- 
ing lightly  on  the  slings  of  the  two 
sacks  which  hung  on  either  hip. 

"So  that's  the  bargain,"  he  said — "a 
dollar  a  day.  .  .  .  But  where  is  your 
rod,  Miss  Allende?" 

"I  did  not  know  whether  you  cared 
to  have  me  fish,  too 

"Indeed  I  do!    Where  is  your  rod?" 

Without  replying  she  went  indoors 
and  presently  returned  with  a  rod. 
Dean  noticed  that  it  was  an  old-fash- 
ioned but  beautifully  made  rod  of  solid 
wood,  with  ring  guides  and  a  reel- 
52 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

plate  high  on  the  butt.  The  reel,  too, 
was  an  ancient  and  heavy  model,  very 
perfectly  made — probably  an  English 
reel. 

As  they  turned  toward  the  woods 
walking  along  the  grassy  bank  of  the 
stream,  he  spoke  admiringly  of  the  rod, 
and  she  said  that  it  had  belonged  to 
her  father. 

"It  is  a  fine  one,"  he  said,  as  she 
offered  it  for  his  inspection — "one  of 
those  beautiful  works  of  early  art,  per- 
fect in  balance  and  workmanship,  and 
fairly  redolent  of  tradition." 

He  balanced  it,  switched  it  gently, 
lovingly,  and  with  the  skilful  authority 
of  an  expert:  "Whenever  I  see  one  of 
these  old-time  rods,"  he  said,  "it  thrills 
me  a  little  just  as  I  suppose  a  rare  old 
53 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

violin  thrills  a  connoisseur.  And  al- 
ways these  old  rods  seem  full  of  the 
secrets  of  vanished  years — of  the  ro- 
mance of  battles  with  big,  wary  spec- 
kled trout — the  trout  of  long  ago,  Miss 
Allende — the  trout  that  are  no  more!" 

He  smiled,  handed  the  rod  to  her, 
saying:  "Perhaps  you  do  not  quite  un- 
derstand me." 

"My  father,"  she  said,  "cared  for  an- 
gling— as  you  seem  to." 

"Surely.  The  owner  of  that  rod 
knew  the  poetry  of  angling." 

A  line  of  bushes  partly  hid  the 
stream  as  they  advanced.  The  edge 
of  the  woods  lay  just  beyond  where  the 
remains  of  a  sawmill  rose  among  wil- 
lows and  alders. 

Already  Dean  could  hear  the  fresh- 
54 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

ly  pleasant  noise  of  water  falling,  and 
the  next  moment  he  came  in  sight  of 
a  sagging  and  mossy  mill-dam  over 
which  water  poured  into  a  wide  pool 
below. 

"That  looks  good  to  me,"  he  sug- 
gested. 

"The  trout  are  small  in  this  stream," 
she  said.  "I  had  meant  to  take  you  to 
another." 

"Lead  on,  Mademoiselle!"  he  said 
gayly,  and  followed  her  into  the  woods. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  path,  no 
notched  trees;  but  the  girl  moved  for- 
ward without  hesitation  into  the  dusky 
stillness  of  the  woods,  leading  the  way, 
not  swiftly,  but  with  the  peculiar  buoy- 
ancy of  youth  and  strength  and  per- 
fect health,  unspoiled,  unhampered  by 

55 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

self-consciousness.  Every  movement 
of  her  lithe  figure  seemed  to  Dean  as 
charmingly  unpremeditated  yet  as  log- 
ical as  the  leisurely  woodland  progress 
of  some  shy,  wild  creature  toward  an 
unseen  goal. 

Neither  the  shabby  flannels  nor  the 
heavy  boots  could  fetter  the  light- 
limbed  step,  nor  constrain  the  vigor- 
ous young  body,  nor  conceal  its  grace. 

Once  she  turned  toward  him,  her 
cheeks  delicately  flushed  but  breathing 
evenly : 

"Please  tell  me  if  I  am  walking  too 
fast/'  she  said  as  he  came  up. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  he  said,  smiling. 

The  woods  seemed  to  be  more  open, 
now,  and  she  fell  back  into  step  be- 
side him. 

56 


She  fell  back  into  step  beside  him  " 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"How  do  you  find  your  way?"  he 
asked. 

"The  sun — the  slope  of  the  land — 
various  trees  and  rocks.  These  woods 
are  familiar  to  me,  Mr.  Dean." 

"So  I  notice,"  he  said,  laughing. 
"As  for  me,  I'm  completely  turned 
around  except  when  I  notice  the  sun. 
And  even  that  seems  to  be  in  the  wrong 
place." 

She  smiled  slightly.  Always  at  any 
lightly  humorous  remark  of  his  it 
seemed  to  be  her  first  impulse  to  re- 
spond in  kind,  but  always,  too,  he 
noticed  the  smile  die  swiftly  in  her  eyes 
and  fade  from  her  lips  as  though 
checked  by  some  subtle  second  thought. 

And  now  he  found  himself  always 
looking  for  this  quick  change  in  her 

57 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

expression,  uneasily  expectant  of  it — 
the  almost  instant  smoothing  out  of 
every  feature  as  though  to  correct  a 
momentary  and  forgetful  animation. 

That  the  mask  of  indifference  was 
only  a  mask  he  began  to  suspect,  and  he 
did  not  now  believe  that  it  concealed 
merely  intellectual  vacancy.  For  surely 
here  was  no  dull  mind,  no  personality 
insensible  to  the  natural  and  innocent 
instincts  of  youth,  no  perverted  prim- 
ness of  a  warped  self-consciousness  in 
process  of  de-humanization. 

And  it  became  plain  to  him  that  the 
girl  deliberately  checked  herself,  em- 
ploying conscious  effort  to  do  so — as 
though  following  some  definite  policy 
in  maintaining  an  indifference  and  an 
aloofness  neither  necessary  nor  natural 
58 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

even  under  the  unusual  circumstances 
of  their  chance  companionship. 

As  they  walked  on  through  the  hard- 
wood growth  he  speculated  idly  con- 
cerning this,  wondering  a  little  why 
she  seemed  to  find  it  necessary  to  dis- 
cipline laughter  that  had  no  more  sig- 
nificance for  either  of  them  than  that 
the  world  was  young. 

"As  for  a  mystery  or  a  past  life's 
history,  God  forbid !"  he  thought,  rather 
bored  at  the  idea. 

And  yet,  thinking  along  that  line, 
it  occurred  to  him  that  here  in  this 
ruined  hamlet  of  Anne's  Bridge 
there  must  have  been  histories  a- 
plenty,  if  not  mysteries — the  sad  ro- 
mance of  false  hopes  proven  false;  the 
tragedy  of  failure  overwhelming  youth 
5  59 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

and  age  alike  in  the  same  fatal  web. 

It  was  merely  the  history  of  all 
American  pioneers — haste,  waste,  stu- 
pidity, stupor — the  childish  stupor  over- 
taking those  who  had  emptied  the  glass 
and  who  found  to  their  amazement  that 
the  gods  had  not  promptly  refilled  it  for 
them. 

"From  the  way  you  spoke  about 
your  fishing  rod,"  he  said,  "I  imagine 
that  your  father  is  not  living." 

She  looked  up  quietly  from  her  light 
revery. 

"No." 

"You   are  quite  alone?" 

"Yes."  After  a  moment  she  added: 
" — since  I  was  sixteen." 

"That's  hard  on  a  girl — or  on  a  boy, 
either,"  he  said  soberly. 
60 


ANNE'S   BRIDGE 

"Yes." 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  to  him  that 
she  meant  to  say  something  more ;  then, 
watching  the  sensitive  and  delicately 
mobile  features,  he  saw  them  become 
blank,  intentionally;  was  aware  of  the 
effort  and  purpose  to  quietly  exclude 
him  or  anything  that  threatened  to  be 
more  than  merely  formal  in  their  inter- 
course. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  reason  for  it, 
nothing  of  silly  self-consciousness,  of 
any  unwarranted  distrust  of  him  on 
her  part  to  account  for  this  emotionless 
reticence  which  amounted  to  a  relent- 
lessly vigilant  discipline. 

Again,  as  he  walked  on  beside  her 
through   the   trees,   he   wondered  why 
the     gospel     of     utter     self-repression 
61 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

should  find  such  a  youthful  and  at- 
tractive devotee. 

Truly  she  was  attractive  in  all  the 
faded  shabbiness  of  her  attire — in  the 
almost  expressionless  quiet  of  her  fea- 
tures. 

And  it  was  true,  too,  that  her  fea- 
tures, even  lacking  animation,  were  as 
lovely  as  her  supple  figure — lovely,  and 
fresh  and  unmarred  under  their  creamy 
tint  of  tan. 

Instinctively  his  eyes  sought  her 
hands,  and  saw  the  delicate  beauty  of 
them  already  roughened  and  worn  by 
toil. 

Yet,  from  moment  to  moment,  he 
glanced  down  at  them,  fascinated  by 
their  slender  symmetry.  Deeply  in- 
terested in  mentally  applying  the  sur- 
62 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

face  remedies  which  might  so  easily 
restore  what  hardship  had  so  pathet- 
ically scarred  and  altered,  he  walked 
beside  her  in  silence — a  silence  which 
she  shared  and  seemed  to  prefer. 

Sunlight  slanting  bathed  the  woods 
in  a  golden  light;  few  birds  were  au- 
dible, the  moulting  season  being  on. 
There  was  no  wind,  yet  a  cool  fresh- 
ness bathed  the  still  places  through 
which  they  passed. 

Trees  were  in  fullest  leaf  and  green; 
nothing  of  autumn  hinted  yet  save  for 
the  silence  of  the  birds — the  prelude 
to  yellowing  boughs  and  the  blue-jay's 
strident  noise.  Only  the  tapping  of  a 
distant  woodpecker  broke  the  quiet — or 
the  confidential  conversation  of  chicka- 
dees in  the  hemlocks,  or  the  low  whin- 

63 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

ing  reiteration  of  a  nuthatch  here  and 
there  exploring  the  roughened  flanks 
of  elm  or  maple. 

He  said,  quietly:  "There  is  a  classic 
charm  about  trout-fishing  that  is  per- 
haps unequalled  —  a  loveliness  in  young 
leaves  and  budding  sprays  and  the 
first  frail  blossoms  of  the  year.  But  to 
me,  there  has  been  always  a  peculiar 
fascination  in  the  last  days  of  the  trout 
season  —  this  rich,  green  silence  which 
broods  where  you  pass  as  silently  along 
the  stream,  conscious  of  the  necessity 
for  a  skill,  an  adroitness,  and  a  caution 
not  entirely  necessary  when  the  ice 
first  goes  out  and  the  trout  are  hun- 


She  had  turned  her  head  partly  to- 
ward him,  and  was  listening  intently 
64 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

as  he  rambled  gayly  on.  His  rhapsody 
on  angling  and  the  setting  which  best 
suited  the  pursuit  of  that  alluring  art, 
seemed  to  hold  her  attention.  Once, 
glancing  around  at  her  he  found  her 
smile  so  delightfully  responsive  that 
his  tongue  halted  in  the  agreeable  sur- 
prise of  it.  Then,  as  the  animation 
died  from  her  eyes  and  the  delicate 
curve  of  her  lips  faded  to  an  expres- 
sionless immobility: 

"Have  you  anything  on  your  mind 
that  troubles  you,  Miss  Allende?"  he 
asked  with  a  frankness  almost  blunt. 
"Because  if  you  have  I  won't  bother 
you  by  talking." 

She  made  no  reply  for  a  few  mo- 
ments; the  bright  color  cooled  in  her 
cheeks.  Then,  turning,  she  said: 
65 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"When  you  care  to  talk  to  me  I — I 
find  it — agreeable." 

"Really?" 

She  looked  away  from  him: 

"Yes.    I  have  few  people  to  talk  to." 

"I  thought  possibly  you  might  be 
preoccupied  and  that — "  he  smiled — 
"my  rather  pointless  conversation 
might  distract  you  from  more  impor- 
tant reflections." 

"Important  reflections,"  she  repeat- 
ed. There  was  a  very  gentle  hint  of 
irony  in  her  voice,  not  bitter,  yet  scarce- 
ly gay. 

And,  as  on  an  impulse,  she  turned 
and  looked  at  Dean  with  an  odd  little 
laugh  on  her  lips : 

"What  overwhelming  important  re- 
flections do  you  suppose  a  resident  of 
66 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

Anne's  Bridge  might  entertain,  Mr. 
Dean?" 

''What  concerns  you  or  me  or  the 
Queen  of  Spain  is  important  to  each 
of  us  individually,"  he  said  lightly: 
"How  do  I  know  how  important  your 
reflections  may  be  to  you?" 

She  smiled,  relaxing  a  little  more: 
"As  a  matter  of  fact  my  reflections  con- 
cerned trout-flies  when  you  so  abrupt- 
ly questioned  them." 

"Really?" 

"Entirely.  You  were  speaking — 
rather  poetically — of  fishing;  and  I  was 
rather  wondering  what  sort  of  flies 
were  in  your  fly-book " 

"Is  that  as  much  as  my  poetry  of 
speech  appealed  to  you?"  he  demanded, 
laughing. 

67 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"I  admitted  that  it  was  poetry,  didn't 
I.  So  you  see  at  least  I  noticed  it.  ... 

And,  conceding  that "  she  smiled 

delightfully  at  him  with  the  faintest 
hint  of  malice  in  her  eyes — "would  you 
mind  telling  me  what  sort  of  fly  you 
propose  to  try  this  morning?" 

"I've  the  usual  stock,"  he  said — "the 
old  stand-bys — coachmen  of  various  va- 
rieties, hare's-ears,  duns,  hackles,  gnats. 
Won't  any  of  these  do?" 

She  said  diffidently:  "My  father 
taught  me  to  tie  flies  for  him.  He  used 
only  a  few  kinds — and  they  have  no 
particular  names,  I  believe.  But  they 
seem  to  be  best  on  the  waters  in  this 
region." 

She  drew  from  one  of  her  pouches 
an  old-time  fly-book,  strapped,  dog- 
68 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

eared,  and  thick,  and,  opening  it  as 
she  walked,  displayed  a  fly  here  and 
there — odd,  dull-tinted  tufts  of  silk  and 
feather  destitute  of  hackle  and  tinsel. 

"I  brought  them  for  you,"  she  said 
— "if  you  care  to  try  them." 

He  thanked  her  and  reminded  her 
that  he  was  in  her  hands.  And  in- 
voluntarily his  glance  fell  again  on 
those  slim,  marred  hands,  so  eloquent 
with  secrets  if  only  he  could  under- 
stand the  language  of  each  slender, 
weather-roughened  ringer. 

The  refreshing  noise  of  a  rocky 
stream  somewhere  not  far  away  had 
been  filling  his  ears  for  the  last  few 
minutes;  and  now,  descending  a  tree- 
clad  slope,  they  came  to  it — a  cold 
clear  flashing  little  mountain  river, 
69 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

clattering  over  silvery  and  greenish 
stones,  here  rushing  into  a  swirling 
cauldron,  there  flowing  out  into  a  long 
diamond-clear  pool  with  ripples  at  the 
foot. 

"This  is  charming!"  he  exclaimed— 
"the  ideal  trout  stream !    Where  is  that 
magic  fly  you  promised  to  bestow  upon 
me?" 

She  offered  the  old-time  -fly-book 
again  but  he  insisted  that  she  choose 
for  him,  and  she  selected  a  fly  of  in- 
decisive tint — the  very  phantom  of 
what  a  trout  fly  ought  to  be,  he  de- 
clared, as  he  looped  it  on  the  leader. 

"Now,  Miss  Allende !"  he  said  brisk- 
ly, stepping  aside  and  waving  invita- 
tion. 

"Please!"  she  said  hastily  and  much 
70 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

flushed,  "I  should  not  care  to  be  con- 
sidered except  as  a  guide." 

"Aren't  you  going  to  fish?" 

"Yes,  if  you  wish." 

"You  don't  suppose  I  am  going  to 
permit  you  to  fish  behind  me  ?" 

"Mr.  Dean — I  had  rather  not  fish  at 
all  than " 

"There's  room  for  us  to  cast  stand- 
ing side  by  side !  Come,  Miss  Allende ; 
I  could  find  no  pleasure  in  any  other 
method." 

((-r  » 

"Will  you  break  even  with  me  ?  And 
behave  like  a  good  comrade  and  a  good 
angler  ?" 

"It  would  be — "  she  glanced  at  him, 
still  flushed  and  troubled,  caught  his 
eye,  squarely: 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"Yes,"  she  said,  with  an  effort  of 
decision  made  apparent  by  a  slight 
catch  in  her  breath — like  a  child  who 
decides  suddenly  to  disobey. 

He  waited  while  she  looped  on  a  fly. 
Then  she  went  to  the  edge  of  the  water 
and  waded  out  into  the  stream  beside 
him. 

"Now!"  he  said. 

The  silken  lines  whistled,  looped,  un- 
coiled in  the  long  back  casts,  straight- 
ened out,  and  darted  forward.  Just 
under  where  her  fly  settled  and  swung 
shoreward  on  the  foamy  edge  of  an 
eddy,  a  broad  glimmer  of  pink  and 
silver  flashed. 

"That's  a  fine  fish !"  exclaimed  Dean. 
"He  showed  his  colors.  Did  you  see?" 

"Try  him,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
72 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"No  indeed!" 

"Please,  Mr.  Dean!"  she  turned  and 
looked  at  him  with  a  delightful  little 
smile.  "Please  put  me  at  my  ease.  I 
do  so  much  wish  to  earn  my  dollar  and 
keep  my  self-respect." 

"It's  rotten  of  me — but  if  you'd  feel 
better " 

"I  should,  really.  I  do  want  you  to 
take  that  trout.  He's  worth  it!" 

"All  right !"  he  said  briefly,  and  cast 
in  a  business-like  manner,  lightly,  dead- 
ly accurate,  so  that  the  fly  dropped 
on  the  edge  of  the  whirling  foam  al- 
most exactly  where  her  fly  had  fallen, 
and  cocked  up,  floating  landward  with 
the  eddy. 

Deep  in  the  water  there  was  another 
dim  gleam  of  pink,  a  swirl.  Then,  as 

73 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

he  struck,  the  thin  shriek  of  his  reel 
confirmed  the  staggering  curve  of  the 
rod.  He  was  in  for  it. 

Intent,  breathless,  the  girl  stood  at 
his  elbow  watching  the  fight  in  all  its 
varying  and  nerve-racking  phases.  The 
great  trout  bored  steadily  toward  the 
further  shore  where  a  mass  of  dan- 
gerous tree-roots  promised  disaster  for 
the  angler.  The  full,  steady  strain  of 
the  rod  turned  the  fish  at  last ;  this  way 
and  that  he  raced,  the  taut  line  cut- 
ting the  water;  then  there  came  a  half- 
leap  and  splash  that  sent  the  spray  fly- 
ing; and  the  great  trout  was  off  again 
scarcely  controlled  by  the  quivering  rod. 

At  last  Dean  spoke  without  turning 
his  head:  "Have  you  the  landing-net 
ready?" 

74 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"Yes." 

"All  right.  I  think  I  can  bring  him 
near  enough  now." 

After  a  few  moments  he  said :  "Now, 
Miss  Allende!" 

There  came  a  quick  splash,  a  long 
sigh  of  delight  and  relief  from  Dean, 
and  the  splendid  fish  lay  dripping  in 
the  landing-net. 

Down  on  their  knees  together  on 
the  bank  they  bent  over  the  big 
trout,  excited,  garrulous,  praising  the 
noble  dimensions  of  the  fish  aloud 
and  calling  each  other's  attention  to 
its  several  charms  of  color  and  pro- 
portion. 

"Miss  Allende!"  he  cried,  extending 
his  dripping  hand,  "you're  a  thorough- 
bred! All  thoroughbreds  are  better 

&  75 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

than  their  promises.  Please  congratu- 
late me!" 

She  laid  her  own  wet  hand  in  his, 
laughed,  took  his  firmly  in  her  slender 
grip: 

"Are  you  really  so  much  pleased? 
Or  only  kind  to  my  efforts?" 

"Pleased!  I'm  the  proudest  biped 
in  North  America !  Look  at  that  trout ! 
Why,  I  never  dreamed  there  were  such 
fish  at  Anne's  Bridge.  I  am  happy 
and  grateful  to  the  most  wonderful 
guide  in-  the  entire  state !" 

"Then  I  do  congratulate  you,  Mr. 
Dean,"  she  said  with  a  swift  grip  of 
her  closing  fingers.  And  they  smiled 
at  each  other  as  their  hands  parted. 

He  said:  "There's  one  thing  I  need 
to  complete  my  absolute  contentment." 
76 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

She  lifted  her  brown  eyes  interroga- 
tively. They  both  stood  up. 

"I  desire,"  he  said,  "to  see  you  match 
that  trout  with  one  of  your  own." 

She  laughed:  "I  must  admit,"  she 
said,  "that  there  are  not  many  trout 
in  the  stream  as  large  as  this.  I'm  so 
very  glad  that  you  chanced  to  get 
him." 

"Anyway,"  he  said,  happily,  "let  us 
go  on.  This  day  has  started  very  won- 
derfully for  me." 

As  he  stood  there  shaking  his  line 
free,  the  sunshine  falling  on  his  care- 
free face,  he  looked  very  boyish,  even 
almost  handsome — so  agreeably  does 
happiness  transfigure  what  otherwise  is 
not  remarkable. 

As  for  the  girl,  the  radiant  imprint 

77 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

of  a  care-free  moment  still  lingered 
like  sunlight  itself  on  her  face;  and  as 
he  looked  up  at  her  where  she  stood 
on  the  wooded  bank  his  smiling  eyes 
fell  on  her  neck  where  below  her  open 
collar  its  dazzling  whiteness  was  re- 
vealed in  contrast  to  the  throat's 
creamy  tint  of  tan. 

His  eyes  sought  the  line  which  he 
was  still  engaged  in  freeing,  and  he 
became  grave  and  silent,  disconcerted 
by  a  sharp  and  sudden  knowledge  that 
this  young  girl  was  lovelier  than  he 
had  taken  the  trouble  to  realize. 

"May  I  help  you — if  your  leader  is 
tangled?"  she  asked,  coming  up  to  him 
and  leaning  over  the  snarl  which  he 
was  patiently  untangling. 

Suddenly  he  became  conscious  of  her 
78 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

nearness.  A  subtle  sense  of  something 
young  and  sweet  and  fresh  and  very 
close  invaded  him. 

He  picked  rather  blindly  at  the  tan- 
gle, looked  up  at  her,  unsmiling,  and 
offered  the  snarl  to  her  to  unravel. 

Then  he  laid  his  rod  on  the  moss, 
walked  a  few  steps  along  the  bank,  and 
halted,  gazing  rather  earnestly  at  noth- 
ing. 


Ill 

With  the  first  day  of  September  trout 
fishing  in  Sagamore  County  ended.  Al- 
ready the  spawning  season  had  be- 
gun; sandy  shallows  in  every  stream 
were  alive  with  the  brilliant  fins  of  male 
trout,  gorgeous  in  their  wedding  livery 
of  fire  and  gold. 

On  that  day  the  slim,  dusky  brides 
80 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

of  the  lords  of  the  stream  were  al- 
ready rubbing  hollows  in  the  silvery 
bottom  sands  of  every  swift  running 
shallow.  Velvety  reaches  of  gravel 
had  been  furrowed  by  fin  and  tail,  and 
over  these  floated  the  female  trout, 
suspended  above  their  own  shadows, 
motionless  save  when  seized  by  a  de- 
sire for  further  excavations  in  the 
shining  bed  of  sand  beneath  them. 

Elegant  of  shape,  small  headed, 
dainty,  her  bridal  garb  clouded  with 
dull  rich  tints  of  salmon-pink  and  sil- 
ver, Mademoiselle  Salvelina  alternate- 
ly prepared,  surveyed,  and  rested  in 
silent  watchfulness  above  the  partly 
fashioned  bridal  couch  which  she  was 
constructing  to  her  fastidious  taste. 

Around  each  busy  demoiselle  loitered 
81 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

Monsieur  de  Fontenalis,  carelessly  dis- 
playing his  painted  charms,  looking 
fiercely  gallant  with  his  newly  curved 
hooked  nose  and  his  crimson  spots 
aglow  like  coals. 

Sometimes  he  ventured  a  premature 
caress,  sidling  nearer  with  winnowing 
scarlet  fins  ivory-edged;  sometimes  he 
ventured  to  do  a  little  excavating  in 
the  sand  offering  unsolicited  aid  to  his 
preoccupied  sweetheart;  sometimes  he 
swirled  in  anger,  offering  single  com- 
bat to  other  lingering  suitors.  And 
sometimes,  alas!  he  got  on  Mademoi- 
selle's nerves,  and  she  flew  at  him  and 
drove  him  and  the  other  aspirants  right 
and  left  before  her  feminine  fury. 

Then  the  shallow  water  boiled  and 
flashed  with  the  rush  and  leap  and 
82 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

scatter  of  jewelled  fish;  and,  sometimes, 
as  far  as  one  could  see  across  the  vista 
of  rushing  shallows  in  every  pool  trout 
were  splashing  and  spray  flying  as 
though  by  some  preconcerted  signal  the 
demoiselles  militant  had  begun  the  fash- 
ionable revolt  of  the  century. 

Angelina  Allende  standing  on  the 
bank  of  the  stream  beside  Dean  looked 
far  down  along  the  forest  vista  set  with 
sparkling  pools  where  dashes  of  spray 
and  flashes  of  rose  and  pearl  marked 
the  amatory  aquatic  combats. 

"He's  rather  a  miserable  specimen  of 
lover  after  all — the  male  trout,"  she 
remarked — "fierce,  ruthless,  savagely 
selfish.  If  it  lay  with  him  the  race  of 
trout  would  be  exterminated  in  a  sin- 
gle season." 

83 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"If  it  depended  upon  the  male  ani- 
mal," said  Dean,  smilingly,  "there 
wouldn't  be  much  life  of  any  sort 
remaining  on  this  planet.  He  is  the 
Destroyer.  His  twin  brother  is 
Death." 

She  did  not  smile ;  her  dark  eyes  bent 
on  the  water  grew  sombre  as  she  lis- 
tened. 

He  said:  "The  male  is  born  to  de- 
stroy. In  science  his  symbol  is  this — " 
he  drew  pencil  and  note  book  from  his 
pocket  and  made  a  rapid  outline —  <? 
"The  helmet  of  Mars,"  he  explained. 
"It  stands  for  destruction." 

She  turned  her  pretty  head  to  look 
at   the   sketch.      He   drew   again   with 
the  pencil  another  symbol     9.     "In  sci- 
ence," he  said,  "this  figure  represents 
84 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

the  feminine  in  nature — the  life  giver, 
preserver,  perpetuator." 

"What  does  that  figure  actually  sym- 
bolize?" she  asked,  following  his  pen- 
cil with  her  sombre  eyes. 

He  laughed  mischievously:  "A  look- 
ing glass !  The  hand  mirror  of  Venus. 
Rather  a  frivolous  origin  for  so  vital  a 
symbol,  isn't  it,  Miss  Allende?  Yet,  in 
the  eternal  battle  for  the  perpetuation 
of  the  human  species,  your  sex  employs 
it  legitimately  to  discover  any  flaw  in 
its  armor  before  going  forth  to  battle." 

"And  the  woman  who  discovers 
flaws  in  the  armor  she  wears?"  in- 
quired the  girl  with  a  faint  smile. 

"Oh,  she  patches  up  the  flaws  and 
paints   them   over,   or   she   remains   at 
home  a  non-combatant." 
85 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"As — I  do,"  remarked  Miss  Allende, 
her  eyes  reverting  to  the  splashing 
trout  in  the  pool  below. 

"I  can  discover  no  flaws  in  your 
armor,"  said  Dean  lightly. 

"There  are  plenty,"  she  said  care- 
lessly. 

"Where?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  then 
with  a  slightly  disdainful  gesture 
touched  her  sunburnt  skin  and  turned 
her  slim  hands  palm  upward  in  the 
sun,  making  eloquent  every  weather- 
worn blemish. 

"Nonsense,"  he  scoffed  gayly.  "Lei- 
sure and  lotions  cure  such  surface  acci- 
dents." 

"Both  unobtainable  at  Anne's 
Bridge,"  she  retorted.  "Time  alone  is 
86 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

free  to  all,  here  at  Anne's  Bridge;  and 
time  will  some  day  make  these  flaws 
indelible."  She  shrugged  again: 
"Therefore,  Mr.  Dean,  I  remain  as  you 
see  a  non-combatant  while  little  by  lit- 
tle my  armor  rusts." 

"And  your  heart?"  he  asked  pleas- 
antly. 

"That?  Oh  there's  nothing  left  of 
it;  not  even  rust." 

"No  traces  of  good  cheer?"  he  in- 
quired smilingly.  "No  residue  of 
courage  ?" 

"Courage?  I  don't  know.  I. don't 
know  exactly  what  courage  is." 

"The  brave  are  always  unconscious 
of  their  courage." 

She  looked  steadily  down  at  the 
water.  "I  have  nothing  to  be  brave 

87 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

about.  I  am  nothing,  have  nothing, 
do  nothing.  There  is  no  problem  to 

confront  me  except  the  universal  one 
of  maintaining  good  relations  between 
soul  and  body.  And  that  is  merely  a 
matter  of  sufficient  bread  and  fire.  And 
if  they  fail — there  remains  no  prob- 
lem." 

She  had  started  to  stroll  on  along 
the  water.  He  followed.  A  fallen  tree 
blocked  her  progress.  She  seated  her- 
self on  the  mossy  trunk  where  the  full 
morning  sunlight  fell  on  her  head  and 
across  her  shabby  flannel  waist  and 
skirt. 

"Bread  and  fire,"  she  repeated  half 

to   herself,   her   brown   eyes    fixed   on 

the  sparkling  waters   flowing  through 

the    woodlands    which    already    were 

88 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

decorating  the  swift  currents  with 
gaily  painted  autumn  leaves. 

"Bread  and  fire — for  the  body/'  he 
repeated  lightly.  "But  minds  also  hun- 
ger." 

"The  process  of  starvation  is  slower 
before  the  mind  dies,  Mr.  Dean." 

"And  the  soul?" 

"That  is  the  most  fragile.  It  dies 
very  easily — even  unexpectedly." 

"What  nonsense,"  he  said,  smiling; 
"it  is  deathless.  And  you  know  it." 

Her  brown  eyes  stared  absently  at 
the  water.  "How  do  you  know?" 

"That  the  soul  is  deathless?" 

"Yes.     How  do  you  know?" 

"Is  it  necessary  to  cite  holy  writ  to 
you,  Miss  Allende?" 

"It  is  not  necessary.  Also  it  is  use- 
89 


ANNE'S   BRIDGE 

less.  I  ask  for  facts,  not  surmises. 
How  do  you  know  that  the  soul  is 
deathless?" 

"You  need  not  tell  me  that  you  have 
no  creed,"  he  insisted  pleasantly. 

"No,  I  need  not  tell  you  that." 

"Because  you  have  a  creed,"  he  con- 
cluded. 

"You  are  mistaken." 

"You  are  mistaken.     Youth  always 
believes  something." 

"Youth?"  she  repeated,  looking  up 
at  him.  And  suddenly  in  her  brown 
eyes  he  seemed  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
outer  darkness — of  depths  unsuspected, 
terribly  profound.  She  lowered  her 
head  again  and  sat  absently  watching 
the  brilliant  maple  leaves  sailing  past 
on  the  hurrying  current  below. 
90 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"You  are  very  young,"  he  said  in  a 
troubled  voice. 

"Yes.  ...  If  you  call  that  youth, 
— If  you  merely  count  my  years — or 
the  scarcity  of  them.  Yes,  I  am  young 
enough  in  years  ....  Shall  we  go 
back  to  the  house — if  you  are  ready?" 

"Have  you  no  belief  ?" 

"Are  you  an  evangelist?"  she  asked 
almost  insolently. 

He  reddened:  "No; — I  had  not 
meant  to  invade  your  privacy." 

Her  pretty  head  dropped  slowly: 
She  said  in  a  low  voice:  "I  had  not 
meant  to  answer  you  as  I  did.  I  am 
sorry." 

They  sat  silent  after  that  until  on 
some  swift  impulse  she  turned  to- 
ward him,  perhaps  to  learn  what 

7  9i 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

expression  his  features  might  be  wear- 
ing. 

He  looked  back  at  her  very  steadily. 

"We  were  good  comrades — even 
friends,"  he  said.  "But  I  had  not 
meant  to  abuse  our  friendship." 

"You  did  not  abuse  it.  ...  I  was 
not  indifferent  to  what  you  were  say- 
ing to  me, — not  impatient.  Only — for 
me — life  has  been — severe.  ...  It 
hurt — to  hear  you  speak  so  contentedly 
of  creeds — secure  in  your  own  agree- 
able belief.  .  .  .  Does  it  seem  impos- 
sible to  you  that  there  are  those  who1 
live  their  lives  out  without  one  single 
thing  to  thank  God  for?" 

He  remained  silent,  his  eyes  intent 
on  her  flushed  face.  Once  her  lip 
quivered,  instantly  bitten  under  con- 
92 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

trol;  once  there  was  a  starry  glint  in 
her  eyes  like  a  faint  glimmer  reflected 
from  some  deep  source  of  tears  not 
wholly  dry. 

"You  do  believe — something!"  he 
said,  partly  to  himself. 

She  forced  a  smile  and  shook  her 
head  slightly:  "Not  I,  Mr.  Dean. 
.  .  .  Except  that  you  have  been  ami- 
able and  kind  to  me.  .  .  .  Also,  if 
you  do  leave  your  dogs  for  me  to  board 
for  you,  I  really  believe  you  will  return 
in  October  for  the  shooting." 

"You  think  the  dogs  are  the  only 
ties  that  might  draw  me  back  to  Anne's 
Bridge?" 

"And  the  shooting." 

"Don't  you  think  our  friendship 
might  draw  me  back?" 

93 


ANNE'S   BRIDGE 

She  rose  to  her  feet :    "Hardly,"  she 
said. 

So    together    they    sauntered    back 
through  the  woods  where  a  few  crim- 
son leaves  floated  earthward  now  and 
then,  and  the  blue- jays,  not  yet  very 
noisy,  were  nevertheless  on  the   wing 
and  already  much  in  evidence. 
At  the  door  she  said,  carelessly: 
"When  do  you  go  to  the  city?" 
"In  a  day  or  two  I  think.     I  am  ex- 
pecting a  letter  which  will  settle  mat- 
ters." 

The  letter  came  after  supper  by  rural 
delivery. 

Dean,  who  had  strolled  down  to  the 
stream  alone,  found  it  on  the  table  in 
his  bedroom  when  he  returned. 
94 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

He  read  it  there,  very  carefully  by 
candle  light: 

DEAR  JIM  : 

The  various  properties  involved  aggregate 
something  over  eight  thousand  acres,  which 
I  feel  confident  is  sufficient  for  the  purpose 
you  have  in  mind. 

There  are  a  dozen  or  more  owners ;  some 
parcels  may  be  bought  in  at  tax  sales,  others 
require  manceuvering. 

I  shall  proceed  very  cautiously  through 
several  agents  and  brokers,  covering  our 
tracks.  If  suspicion  were  once  aroused 
among  those  half  starved  catamounts  of 
Sagamore  County  they'd  sting  you  hard  for 
every  worthless  acre. 

Leave  it  to  me  to  assemble  the  piece  and 
round  it  out  at  rock-bed  prices. 

The  law  is  very  distinct  concerning  the 
stocking  of  any  stream  with  trout  by  the 
State :  unless  all  the  owners  of  riparian 
rights  consent,  the  mere  stocking  by  the 
State  does  not  close  the  stream  to  private 
control. 


95 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

In  Sagamore  County  the  State  has  stocked 
many  of  the  streams,  but  has,  so  far,  never 
asked  for  the  consent  of  the  land  owners 
through  whose  property  the  various  streams 
run. 

Therefore  there  is  no  question  of  your 
right  to  control  the  streams  after  purchase. 

The  titles  of  the  several  owners  in  these 
dozen  or  so  parcels  I  have  had  searched. 
All  titles  are  sound  excepting  only  the  titles 
of  two  unimportant  pieces  along  the  east 
boundary.  One  of  these  is  an  undivided 
parcel  entailed  to  minors.  The  title  to  the 
other  is  cloudy.  Neither  are  necessary  to 
round  out  your  estate. 

One  matter  I  think  you  ought  to  know 
about.  The  Allende  property,  as  you  know, 
is  now  controlled  by  a  young  woman,  Ange- 
lina Allende,  at  whose  house,  you  write  me, 
you  are  boarding.  It's  concerning  any  deal- 
ings with  her  that  I  wish  to  caution  you. 
Better  let  me,  through  one  or  more  agents, 
deal  with  her.  The  agent  at  Sagamore 
City,  through  whom  I  made  inquiries  after 
receiving  your  first  letter  from  Anne's 

96 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

Bridge,  writes  me  that  this  Angelina  Allende 
has  served  a  term  in  prison  and  that  her 
reputation  is  not  good  at  Anne's  Bridge. 

Therefore,  your  suggestion  that  you  per- 
sonally conduct  the  negotiations  for  the 
property  might  be  injudicious.  Real  estate 
deals  and  the  acquiring  of  any  considerable 
acreage  are  matters  for  delicate  negotiation 
and  require,  usually,  the  services  of  agents 
experienced  in  that  business.  This  is  all  the 
more  true  when  one  of  the  parties  to  the 
deal  is  of  doubtful  antecedents — or  is,  as  it 
happens  in  this  case,  of  antecedents  about 
which,  unfortunately,  there  can  remain  no 
doubt. 

Consequently  I  think  you  had  better  per- 
mit me,  through  proper  agents,  to  deal  with 
the  Allende  woman. 

On  hearing  from  you  I  shall  start  things 
in  that  direction,  as  I  have  already  begun 
the  preliminaries  in  other  directions. 

With  best  wishes,  and  awaiting  your  re- 
ply, I  am, 

Yours  always, 

ALEXANDER  WELDEN. 


97 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

His  candle  had  burned  to  the  socket 
before  he  moved,  straightened  his 
shoulders,  slowly  folded  the  letter, 
and  place  it  carefully  in  his  breast 
pocket. 

For  a  few  moments  longer  he  sat 
there,  leaning  slightly  forward,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  blank  wall.  Then  slowly, 
he  drew  a  sheet  of  note  paper  toward 
him  and  wrote: 

DEAR  ALEX  : 

I  am  convinced  that  you  have  made  a 
terrible  mistake  in  regard  to  Miss  Allende. 
The  agent  at  Sagamore  City  must  have  con- 
fused Miss  Allende  with  somebody  else. 

I  am  absolutely  certain  of  this,  and  that 
Miss  Allende  is  a  woman  of  purest  char- 
acter and  highest  probity.  Therefore  I  shall 
say  to  her  very  frankly  at  the  proper  mo- 
ment that  I  should  be  glad  to  purchase  her 

98 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

property.     And  I  shall  certainly  pay  what- 
ever she  decides  it  to  be  worth. 
Yours, 

JAMES  DEAN,  JR. 

P.  S. — Be  good  enough  to  notify  this 
agent  of  yours  that  he  is  in  error  concern- 
ing Miss  Allende's  antecedents,  and  suggest 
to  him  that  he  .inform  himself  more  accu- 
rately in  future  before  he  ventures  to  place 
such  a  stigma  upon  anybody,  and,  in  par- 
ticular, upon  an  upright  and  blameless 
woman.  It's  the  limit,  Alex! 

He  sealed,  stamped,  and  directed  his 
letter.  About  midnight  he  arose  from 
his  bed,  relighted  the  remains  of  his 
candle,  pasted  several  more  stamps  on 
the  envelope  and  wrote  under  them 
"special  delivery." 

But  he  could  not  sleep  even  after 
that,  and  it  was  almost  dawn  before  he 
finally  closed  his  eyes. 

99 


IV 

He  awoke  nervous  and  upset. 

The  more  he  thought  of  Welden's 
letter  the  more  angry  and  disgusted  he 
became:  the  stupid  irresponsibility  of 
such  charges  incensed  him. 

In  that  frame  of  mind  a  man  is  in- 
clined toward  extremes;  and  when 
Dean  came  in  to  breakfast  there  was 
in  his  greeting  of  Miss  Allende  a 
directness  and  warmth  which  perhaps 
over-colored  his  accustomed  cordiality. 
100 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

This  attitude  of  his,  so  entirely  new 
to  them  both,  left  her  flushed  and 
reticent;  but  he  chatted  on  gaily  as 
she  came  and  went  between  alcove  and 
kitchen ;  and,  at  moments  she  paused  in 
her  routine  to  raise  her  brown  eyes 
and  cast  a  swift,  half  curious,  half  dis- 
concerted glance  at  him,  conscious  of 
the  subtle  change  in  their  tranquil  re- 
lations but  uncertain  as  to  its  exact 
nature. 

Afterward  he  seemed  to  desire  her 
companionship  for  a  walk  in  the  woods ; 
proposed  that  they  take  their  luncheon 
with  them,  too.  But  she  had  ironing 
to  do,  and  mending — and  a  multitude 
of  other  duties  which  had  accumulated 
during  the  two  weeks  fishing  with  him 
and  acting  as  his  daily  guide. 
101 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

Nor  did  his  sincere  offer  of  assist- 
ance seem  to  appeal  to  her,  and  she 
told  him  smilingly  that  his  aid  would 
only  impede  and  embarrass  her. 

However,  she  permitted  him  to  split 
kindlings,  detach  a  few  ears  of  corn 
and  disinter  several  necessary  potatoes. 
Then  she  suggested  that  he  amuse  him- 
self otherwise.  So  he  went  for  a  long 
walk  with  his  dogs  to  perfect  their  field 
work;  and  they  stood  several  native 
woodcock  in  a  most  exemplary  man- 
ner, and  Mike  disgraced  himself  only 
once  with  the  grouse, — losing  his 
head  and  breaking  point  where  he 
stood  in  a  brier  patch  the  centre 
of  a  whirling  maelstrom  of  rising 
birds. 

That  night  Miss  Allende  retired 
1 02 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

early.  Her  boarder  sat  alone  in  the 
starlight  on  the  stone  step  before  the 
door.  The  parrot,  half  asleep  on  his 
apple  bough,  croaked  at  intervals  in 
his  dreams.  And,  as  Dean  finally  arose 
and  went  indoors,  he  heard  the  drowsy 
bird  muttering  about  trouble — plenty 
of  it — plenty.  And  lay  sleepless  for 
hours,  restless,  aware  of  stars  through 
his  open  window  shining  far  away 
above  the  woods. 

When  he  entered  the  breakfast  alcove 
the  next  morning,  he  happened  to  be 
wearing  his  moccasins,  which  made  no 
sound  on  the  bare  floor;  and  so  failed 
to  arouse  her  where  she  sat  listlessly 
awaiting  his  appearance. 

Her  arms  were  folded  across  the 
back  of  a  kitchen  chair;  her  cheek 
103 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

rested  on  them;  every  fibre  in  her 
seemed  relaxed,  inert;  only  her  brown 
eyes  wide  and  darkly  brooding  betrayed 
that  she  was  awake. 

When  she  suddenly  became  aware 
of  him  she  rose  as  though  startled;  and 
he  could  see  the  color  returning  slowly 
to  her  cheeks. 

"Didn't  you  sleep  well?"  he  asked, 
frankly  concerned. 

"Yes.    I  always  sleep." 

"You  seem  a  trifle  pale." 

Busy  with  her  breakfast  she  made 
no  answer,  coming  and  going  in  silence 
through  the  early  sunshine  which 
slanted  in  wide  bands  through  the  win- 
dow. 

When  again  he  suggested  a  ramble 
together  she  shook  her  head  explaining 
104 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

that  many  duties  awaited  her  in  house 
and  garden.  And  again  he  took  him- 
self off  to  the  yellowing  woods  where 
for  hours  he  wandered  along  the  stream 
watching  the  courtships  and  combats 
of  the  trout  darting  and  dashing  hither 
and  thither  amid  the  floating  painted 
leaves  of  autumn. 

After  dinner  he  went  back  to  the 
stream  again  and  remained  there  until 
supper  time,  thinking. 

There  was  a  letter  beside  his  plate 
when  he  returned  at  eventide.  He 
glanced  at  the  sealed  envelope,  marked 
"private,"  from  time  to  time,  as  he  ate; 
then,  rising,  he  took  the  letter  to  his 
room,  lighted  a  candle,  and  broke  the 
three  red  seals: 


105 


ANNE'S   BRIDGE 

DEAR  JIM  : 

Here  are  the  facts  as  guardedly  commu- 
nicated to  me  by  Max  Blenker,  our  agent 
at  Sagamore  City. 

I  telephoned  him  at  once  upon  receiving 
your  letter,  asking  him  to  substantiate  his 
serious  charges  concerning  the  young  wom- 
an in  question. 

In  an  hour  he  called  me  up  again ;  I  made 
a  shorthand  copy  of  what  he  said ;  and  here 
is  the  entire  substance  of  his  report: 

Her  mother  was  an  eastern  woman  of  re- 
finement, education,  and  wealth.  She  died 
in  childbirth.  The  baby  lived  and  was 
named  Angelina. 

Her  father,  Dr.  Allende,  put  all  the  money 
which  his  wife  left  him  into  farms,  mills, 
wood-lots,  water-rights,  and  city  lots  at 
Anne's  Bridge. 

The  girl  was  sent  to  a  boarding  school  in 
New  York  when  she  was  twelve.  She  re- 
mained there  until  she  became  sixteen,  when 
her  father  died  from  a  combination  of  mor- 
phine and  broken  heart. 

She  had  to  leave  school ;  there  was  noth- 

106 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

ing  left  her  except  the  ruined  property  at 
Anne's  Bridge. 

She  went  back  there  and  tried  to  do  some- 
thing with  the  place.  Imagine !  A  school- 
girl !  Finally  she  advertised  the  property 
for  sale.  There  were  no  offers.  About  a 
year  later,  however,  when  the  girl  was  sev- 
enteen, a  man  wrote  her  about  the  property 
and  she  entered  into  negotiations  with  a 
real  estate  agent  in  New  York  named  Bink, 
and,  at  his  request,  went  on  to  consult  him 
personally.  (This  is  part  of  her  testimony.) 

She  had  no  experience;  she  was  only 
seventeen ;  and  she  got  in  wrong.  This  man, 
Adolph  Bink,  took  her  about,  introduced  her 
to  various  masculine  and  feminine  friends, 
and  nearly  succeeded  in  getting  the  title  to 
her  property  away  from  her.  He  might 
have  succeeded  had  he  not  been  drunk  and 
premature. 

It  appears  that  he  gave  a  noisy  supper 
party  one  night  at  the  Red  Stocking  Inn; 
it  ended  in  a  row  and  a  shot  or  two.  It 
seems  that  the  Allende  girl  struck  Bink  with 
a  flower  bowl.  The  police  pulled  the  whole 

8  107 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

bunch.  Bink  was  sent  up  on  charges  pre- 
ferred by  some  prowling  P.  M.  agent;  the 
others  were  fined  or  handed  a  few  days 
apiece — all  except  the  little  Allende  girl. 

Three  judges  sat  to  consider  her  case; 
and  they  concluded  to  send  her  to  the  Sa- 
maritan Reformatory  for  three  years. 

That's  the  history.  It's  not  as  serious  as 
I  supposed.  It  was  not  prison;  it  was  the 
reformatory — your  choice  of  two  unsavory 
odors. 

Her  record  seems  to  have  been  bad  there ; 
she  tried  to  escape  several  times — if  you  call 
that  "bad."  She  behaved  "like  an  enraged 
wild  bird  in  a  cage,"  so  they  told  me  at  the 
reformatory  when  I  went  there  this  noon 
to  investigate. 

After  her  release  she  returned  to  Anne's 
Bridge.  And  that  is  her  record. 

As  for  her  reputation  at  Anne's  Bridge, 
you  know  what  the  malice  of  a  backwoods 
hamlet  can  be. 

Innocent  or  guilty,  her  record  damns 
her  among  the  God-fearing  of  Sagamore 
County. 

1 08 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

Whether  she  remained  an  innocent  victim, 
or  whether  she  became,  at  heart  and  in 
morals,  one  of  Bink's  bunch,  I  don't  know. 
It's  to  her  credit  that  she  tried  to  kill  Bink. 

At  the  Samaritan  they  charged  her  only 
with  sullenness,  reticence,  and  untiring  at- 
tempts to  escape. 

Now,  Jim,  use  your  own  judgment. 
But  if  you  take  my  advice,  fight  shy  of  any 
personal  financial  dealings  with  anybody 
whose  moral  turpitude  has  landed  them  at 
any  time  within  the  meshes  of  the  law. 
You  can  never  be  certain  about  such  peo- 
ple. You  can't  afford  to  give  them  the  bene- 
fit of  the  doubt.  Business  is  business. 

Shall  I  start  my  agents  in  negotiating  for 
the  Allende  property?  Wire  me  at  once. 

WELDEN. 

When  the  young  man  finished  the 
letter  he  flung  himself  on  his  bed  to 
face  the  third  white  night  at  Anne's 
Bridge. 

109 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

It  was  an  interminable  night,  and 
full  of  stars  and  vibrant  with  the  fairy 
trilling  of  a  little  owl  which  hunted  in- 
cessantly among  the  willows  of  the 
waterside. 

His  dogs  also  heard  it:  far  and  dull 
from  the  recesses  of  the  locked  barn 
came  their  muffled  barking.  And  al- 
ways, incessant,  louder  as  the  breeze 
rose,  softer  as  it  failed,  the  sighing  of 
the  pines  and  the  steady  undertone  of 
flowing  water  filled  his  ears. 

Very  early  in  the  morning  Dean, 
fully  dressed,  hailed  the  rural  mail 
deliverer  and  gave  him  a  telegram  to 
be  sent  from  Tamarack  Junction. 

The  telegram  said:     "I  shall  conduct 
negotiations  here  as  I  see  fit.     Attend 
to  other  parcels  at  once." 
no 


The  rising  sun  striped  the  dewy 
grass  with  slender  shadows  as  he 
turned  toward  the  old  yellow  house 
again;  a  few  birds  sang;  masses  of 
blue  asters  and  powdery  thickets  of 
golden-rod  glimmered  with  dew;  acres 
of  elfin  spider-webs  carpeted  the  ground 
sagging  with  iridescent  drops. 

Smoke  drifted  above  one  dilapidated 
chimney  of  the  yellow  house:  evidently 
Miss  Allende  was  already  astir. 

She  looked  around  in  pretty  surprise 
when  he  appeared  at  the  kitchen  door, 
then  her  eyes  grew  more  intent,  for  the 
wear  of  sleepless  nights  was  pallidly 
imprinted  on  his  smiling  features. 

He  denied  that  he  had  not  slept  well. 

"I  made  up  my  mind,"  he  explained, 
"that  I  am  tired  of  breakfasting,  din- 
iii 


ANNE'S   BRIDGE 

ing,  and  supping  in  my  own  company. 
I  shall  do  half  the  work  and  we  shall 
hereafter  sit  at  table  together !" 

"That  is  not  convenient,"  she  said, 
flushing  to  her  ear-tips. 

"Make  it  so.  If  you  are  my  land- 
lady you  ought  to  behave  like  one !" 

She  protested  that  she  was  also 
cook  and  chamber-maid,  still  smiling 
at  him  in  her  pretty,  flushed  manner; 
but  he  would  concede  nothing  to  her. 
And  he  began  to  prowl  about  the  range 
and  handle  pots  and  pans  and  kettles 
until  in  her  laughing  distress  she  prom- 
ised to  honor  him  with  her  company  at 
breakfast. 

She  kept  her  word  and  they  break- 
fasted opposite  each  other,  he  gay  and 
talkative,  she  inclined  to  silence  with 

112 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

now  and  then  an  upward  glance  from 
her  brown  eyes  at  this  smiling  guest 
of  hers  who  had  so  abruptly  developed 
a  talent  for  having  his  own  way. 

And  after  breakfast  he  rolled  up  the 
sleeves  of  his  gray  fishing  shirt  and 
told  her  firmly  that  many  seasons  of 
camp  life  had  qualified  him  for  house- 
work. 

She  protested,  even  seriously,  but  his 
gay  spirits  and  boyish  bullying  left 
her  helpless:  and  presently  she  was 
favored  by  the  spectacle  of  a  sunburnt 
young  man  in  knickerbockers  and 
flannel  shirt  scrubbing  tableware  and 
dishes,  setting  water  to  boil,  stoking 
the  range  and  shaking  it  down,  and 
finally  coming  over  to  her  for  com- 
mendation, requesting  it  so  naively 


ANNE'S   BRIDGE 

that  there  floated  from  her  pretty  lips 
the  first  real,  untroubled  laugh  that  he 
had  heard  since  he  first  set  eyes  on 
her. 

"Have  I  done  well?"  he  insisted. 
"If  I  have  won't  you  come  for  a  walk 
with  me?" 

"Is  that  why  you  have  helped  me?" 

"Certainly,"  he  admitted,  unabashed. 
"I'm  tired  of  walking  about  like  that 
cat  of  Kipling's.  Beside  I  want  to  tell 
you  several  things." 

"I'm  sorry.  There  are  many  things 
I  must  attend  to " 

"You  said  in  your  advertisement, 
'guide  furnished,' — didn't  you  ?  I  want 
a  guide  at  the  usual  rate " 

"Please!"  The  painful  color  swept 
her  face  and  she  turned  swiftly  away. 
114 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

The  next  instant  he  was  beside  her 
and  had  taken  her  hand: 

"I  just  wanted  to  walk  and  talk  with 
—with  a  friend  who  has  been  very 
kind.  I've  missed  you  a  lot." 

Suddenly  the  girl's  heart  began  to 
beat  rapidly;  he  felt  her  slender  hand 
in  his  twisting  to  escape;  and  he  let 
her  go. 

Both  were  breathing  rather  fast  and 
irregularly  as  they  confronted  each 
other. 

"What  is  it  you  wish  to  say  to  me?" 
she  asked. 

"Couldn't  we  walk  in  the  woods  and 
talk  together  like  comrades  who  really 
care  for  our  common  friendship?" 

Her  dark  eyes  rested  on  him,  curi- 
ouslv  intent.  And  in  them  he  read 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

irrevocable  distrust  of  man,  and  an 
abstract  of  him  still  more  hopelessly 
profound. 

She  said:  "I  have  my  household 
duties.  There  is  no  reason  why  we 
should  be  idle  together.  .  .  .  Even  if 
we  were  on  a  different  footing  there 
is  no  particular  reason  why  I  should 
feel  it  necessary  to  entertain  you.  .  .  . 
You  have  made  a  matter  of  business 
very  agreeable  for  me.  But  it  remains 
entirely  a  matter  of  business.  I — I 
should  not  wish  to  have  it  otherwise, 
Mr.  Dean." 

He  said  steadily:  "Don't  you  care 
for  any  personal  friendship  between 
us?" 

"I—"  she  caught  her  breath— "No," 
she  said,  looking  away  from  him. 
116 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  quietly. 

When  he  had  gone  away  she  went 
to  the  window  and  stood  looking  after 
him  until  he  had  entered  the  woods. 
And  stood  there  motionless  for  a  while 
even  after  his  figure  had  disappeared. 

Then  she  sat  down  on  a  rickety 
chair,  her  slim  hands  clasped,  her  dim- 
pled elbows  resting  between  her  knees. 

It  seemed  that  after  all  there  was 
nothing  very  pressing  that  demanded 
her  attention,  for  she  continued  in  the 
same  attitude,  motionless,  her  brown 
eyes  fixed  on  nothing,  until  Aunty 
came  slowly  waddling  into  the  kitchen, 
cocking  an  inquisitive  eye. 

"Plenty  of  trouble,"  remarked  the 
bird  pleasantly. 


V 

He  lay  full  length  under  a  beech  tree 
on  the  bank  of  the  stream.  The  pool 
below  was  deep  and  quiet  and  no  trout 
were  spawning  there. 

Occasionally  a  mink  slipped  out  from 
between  two  rocks  and  took  a  look  at 
him  and  Dean  stared  back  at  the  point- 
ed, furry  muzzle  until  its  owner  again 
withdrew  to  await  a  more  favorable 
opportunity  for  piscatorial  murder. 

And  Dean's  preoccupied  gaze  shifted 
elsewhere  and  he  dreamed  on,  lying 
118 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

motionless    there    on    the    thick   green 
carpet  of  the  moss. 

All  at  once,  without  either  seeing  or 
hearing  her  he  was  aware  that  she  was 
very  near  him;  and  he  turned  his  head 
and  saw  her  standing  behind  him  on 
the  moss. 

"I  thought  I'd  come,"  she  said. 

He  started  to  rise  but  she  consigned 
him  to  his  place,  with  a  slight  gesture 
and  knelt  down  on  the  moss  near  him 
seating  herself  sideways. 

"What  I  said  about  not  caring  for 
your  friendship  is  not  true.  You  know 
I  do,  anyway." 

"I  didn't  know  it." 

"Did  you  believe  what  I  said?" 

"I  tried  not  to.  I've  been  lying  here 
thinking  about  it." 

119 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"Think  no  more  then,"  she  said 
very  quietly:  "I  am  glad  to  be  friends 
with  you."  She  tossed  a  stick  into  the 
pool  below  with  an  odd  finality  of  ges- 
ture as  though  finished  with  that  sub- 
ject: "What  was  it  that  you  wished 
to  tell  me  ?"  she  asked. 

He  sat  up,  cross-legged,  gathering 
his  ankles  into  both  hands. 

"Tell  me  something  first,"  he  said. 
"Do  you  mind  if  I  pry  into  your  afTairs 
a  little?" 

She  looked  up  as  though  startled; 
but  he  went  on  pleasantly:  "It's  about 
the  land  you  own;"  and  he  saw  the 
color  subsiding  in  her  cheeks  and  the 
brown  eyes  smile  their  relief. 

"What  do  you  wish  to  know?"  she 
inquired. 

120 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"How  many  acres  there  are  in  your 
tract." 

"I  think  there  are  about  three  thou- 
sand acres,"  she  said;  her  straight 
brows  knitting  slightly  in  an  effort  to- 
remember. 

"What  are  the  taxes?" 

"They  are  very  low.  I  pay  them  by 
selling  fire-wood  to  a  company  in  Saga- 
more City." 

"Have  you  an  idea  as  to  the  value 
of  your  property?"  he  asked. 

"No." 

"What  does  woodland  bring  an  acre 
in  this  vicinity?" 

"Very  little." 

"Can't  you  recollect  any  parcels  be- 
ing sold  recently?" 

She  knitted  her  pretty  brows  in 
121 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

thought  again;  one  slim  finger  rested 
musingly  against  her  cheek. 

"An  old  man,"  she  began,  "sold 
twenty  acres  of  young  woods  to  the 
company  at  Sagamore  City  for  one 
hundred  dollars.  Later  he  sold  ten 
acres  of  land,  on  which  grew  market- 
able lumber,  for  one  hundred,  and  fifty 
dollars.  This  happened  last  winter. 
...  I  know  about  it  because  his  hands 
had  been  frozen  and  I  had  to  write  his 
letters  to  the  lumber  company." 

"Three  thousand  acres,"  he  said,  "at 
fifteen  dollars  an  acre  makes  your  land 
worth  forty-five  thousand  dollars.0 

The  girl  laughed  outright:      "That 

is  a  very  beautiful  theory,"  she  said. 

"But  if  anybody  offered  me  a  dollar 

.an  acre — or  half  a  dollar  an  acre,   I 

122 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

should  be  only  too  happy.  I  offered  to 
sell  it  all  once  for  a  thousand  dollars, 
but  nobody  seemed  to  care  to  buy  it." 

"Why  not?" 

"It  is  too  far  from  the  railroad. 
Besides  only  half  of  it  bears  market- 
able timber,  and  half  of  that  timber  is 
hard  wood." 

He  nodded:  "Then,  at  prevailing 
prices  your  land  ought  to  be  worth — " 
he  drew  out  his  note  book  and  pencil 
and  made  a  few  figures — "twenty-two 
thousand  five  hundred  dollars." 

She  nodded  almost  gaily:  "Isn't 
it  wonderful,"  she  said,  "how  mathe- 
matics so  often  proves  nothing?" 

"It's  here  in  black  and  white  accord- 
ing to  prevailing  prices  in  the  metrop- 
olis of  Anne's  Bridge,"  he  insisted, 
9  123 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

showing  her  the  page  in  his  note  book. 

"Wonderful,  wonderful,"  she  ex- 
claimed with  smiling  mockery.  "I  am 
wealthy  and  I  never  suspected  it! 
There  is  only  one  slight  matter  to  settle 
before  I  select  my  new  gowns." 

"What  is  that?" 

"Oh,  merely  to  find  a  purchaser  for 
my  property.  Be  kind  enough  to  attend 
to  that  detail  and  send  me  the  check 
when  convenient;  I  shall  be  very  busy 
fitting  gowns." 

They  laughed  for  a  moment;  her 
brown  eyes,  care-free  for  the  first  time, 
were  brilliant  with  mirth. 

It  was  their  beauty  perhaps,  or  per- 
haps it  was  the  news  he  was  to 
reveal  to  her  that  excited  him  so  that 
when  he  started  to  impart  it  he  stam- 
124 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

mered    and    had    to    wait    a    moment. 

Then  he  said:  "There  is  a  man  in 
New  York  who  desires  to  buy  your 
property.  He  will  offer  you  twenty- 
two  thousand  dollars  for  it." 

At  first  she  supposed  he  was  jesting, 
and  she  laughed  again.  Suddenly  her 
face  went  pale  as  a  wind-flower. 

"I  am  entirely  in  earnest,"  he  said. 

Her  hands  crept  up  to  her  sun-tanned 
throat;  she  sat  there  breathing  rapidly 
and  irregularly,  her  dark  eyes  still 
dilated  and  fixed  on  him. 

"At  present,"  he  said,  "my  client's 
name  could  not  be  revealed.  Other 
deals  in  this  vicinity  are  pending.  All 
transactions  ought  to  be  closed  and  titles 
taken  within  the  next  three  or  four" 
months.  Is  that  agreeable  to  you?" 

125 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

She  seemed  bereft  of  speech. 

"I  wonder,"  he  said,  whether  you 
would  empower  me  and  trust  me  to 
carry  through  this  deal  for  you? 
Would  you?" 

She  was  silent;  he  asked  the  ques- 
tion again  and  she  looked  up  hastily 
and  nodded. 

"Will  you  trust  me  with  it?" 

"Yes — of  course!" 

"But  you  know  nothing  about  me?" 
he  insisted,  smiling. 

She  sat  with  the  left  hand  resting 
close  against  her  breast,  and  he  saw  it 
rise  and  fall  with  her  breathing. 

"Have  you  really  any  faith  in  me?" 
he  asked  pleasantly. 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

126 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"I— don't  know." 

He  bent  forward,  laughingly,  drew 
her  rigid  little  hand  from  her 
breast,  and  touched  it  lightly  with  his 
lips. 

"Faith,"  he  said,  "never  really  dies 
in  any  of  us.  ...  Once  you  said  to 
me  that  there  were  those  who  had  noth- 
ing to  thank  God  for.  .  .  .  You  spoke 
like  a  frightened  and  maltreated  child. 
You  are  not  very  much  more  than  a 
child,  now.  .  .  .  And  how  in  God's 
name  you  have  managed  here  all 
alone,  I  don't  know.  But  the  end 
is  in  sight  now.  .  .  .  Please  don't 


cry " 

She  turned,  flung  her  elbow  against 
the  silvery  beech  tree,  and  buried  her 
face  against  her  arm. 
127 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"It's  all  right,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice;  "it's  absolutely  all  right." 

After  a  moment  he  added:  "I  must 
go  to-morrow  morning." 

If  she  understood  she  did  not  move. 

"I  leave  my  dogs  with  you — on  the 
chance  of  returning  in  October  for  the 
shooting.  Anyway  they  are  a  guaran- 
tee that  I  shall  return.  .  .  .  Shall  we 
walk  back  to  the  house?" 

After  a  moment  she  rose  and  stood 
with  her  arm  resting  across  her  eyes. 
He  waited.  Presently  she  moved  her 
other  hand,  gropingly.  He  took  it  in 
his,  drew  it  under  his  arm  and  covered 
it  with  his  hands. 

So,  together,  they  walked  back 
through  the  woods,  her  arm  still  cover- 
ing her  wet  eyes. 

128 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

He  sat  late  that  night  in  his  room, 
sometimes  thinking,  sometimes  packing 
up  for  his  departure.  He  had  said 
good-night  to  her,  going  to  the  kitchen 
for  the  purpose  where  she  was  busy 
in  the  candle-light. 

So  he  was  unprepared  to  encounter 
her  in  the  star-light  outside,  nor  was 
she  prepared  to  see  him  there  at  such 
an  hour,  for  her  slim  bare  feet  were 
thrust  into  tattered  slippers  and  a 
shabby  ulster  covered  her  nightdress 
and  her  thick  lustrous  hair  curled  near- 
ly to  her  waist  making  her  seem  about 
fifteen  there  under  the  pale  glory  of 
the  stars. 

"Couldn't  you  sleep?"  he  asked,  ap- 
proaching her  where  she  had  halted 
by  the  stream. 

129 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"No;  I  am  too  happy.  .  .  .  Also 
sometimes  I  bathe  at  night  in  the  pool 
down  there." 

"In  that  case,"  he  said  smilingly,  "I 
shall  yield  the  field  to  you  and  re- 
tire  " 

"I  have  bathed,"  she  said,  naively 
displaying  a  bath-towel  and  flinging  it 
across  a  clothesline  tied  to  the  great 
elm. 

Then  she  looked  around  at  him. 

"Couldn't  you  sleep,  either?" 

"I  am  not  inclined  that  way.  .  .  . 
What  an  enchanting  night!" 

They  leaned  against  the  giant  elm; 
all  around  them  in  a  circle  drooped  the 
boughs  laden  with  leaves;  the  stream, 
star-brilliant,  whispered  and  laughed 
at  their  feet. 

130 


'He  had  said  good-night  to  her  ...  in  the  candle-light" 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

A  little  breeze  lifted  her  hair,  stir- 
ring it  fragrantly. 

"It's  a  very  wonderful  thing  that  this 
client  of  mine  means  to  do,"  he  said  as 
though  half  to  himself.  "He  means  to 
give  Anne's  Bridge  to  the  wilderness 
again — restore  it  to  its  own.  .  .  . 
Every  sign  of  decrepitude  and  decay 
is  to  vanish;  those  ruined  houses  are 
to  go;  the  sandy  fields  are  to  be  plowed 
and  set  with  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
young  pines  and  hemlocks.  .  .  .  And 
around  this  wild  reserve  shall  run  a 
game-proof  fence.  Only  this  old  yel- 
low house  shall  remain  of  all  the  houses 
here ;  and  it  shall  become,  with  its  other 
new  wings,  a  wonderful  summer  home 
for  the  master  of  the  forest." 

He  turned   to  her,   laughingly:     "I 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

ought  to  envy  the  future  master  of  this 
land.  .  .  .  But  I  don't.  ...  I  wish 
him  well." 

"I,  too/'  she  said. 

"I  wish  him  happiness  in  that 
house." 

"I,  too,"  she  said. 

"Then  it  will  surely  happen  to  that 
fortunate  man, — if  you  also  desire  his 
happiness." 

She  said  in  a  low  voice:  "I  desire 
yours,  also.  .  .  .  You  have  been  so 
kind  to  me — it's  like  a  miracle — and  no 
way  to  thank  you ' 

"My  client  wanted  the  place.  No 
thanks  are  due  me." 

"I  did  not  mean  for  that.  ...  I 
meant — your  friendship." 

"Why  should  you  thank  me  for  what 
132 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

I  could  not  withhold  if  you  care  to 
have  it?" 

But  she  only  sighed  lightly;  and  they 
turned  away  together  toward  the  house. 

In  the  hallway  she  paused,  looked  up 
at  him,  then  laid  her  hand  very  quietly 
in  his. 

"Whatever  comes  to  pass,"  she  said, 
"remember  that  I  cared  for  your  friend- 
ship. .  .  .  And  that  I  gave  you  mine — 
even  before  you  asked  for  it.  ...  You 
didn't  know  that,  did  you  ?" 

"No." 

She  smiled  faintly: 

"Good-night,"  she  said. 

So  he  went  to  his  room  to  sleep  if  he 
could;  and  sleep  was  kinder  to  him; 
for  the  sun  was  shining  full  in  his  eyes 
when  he  awoke. 

133 


At  the  breakfast  table  which  she 
shared  with  him  she  seemed  shy  and 
serious  by  turns,  scarcely  responding 
to  his  gay  sallies  and  lightly  humorous 
view  of  things  in  general. 

"If  I  don't  come  back  in  October  for 
the  shooting,"  he  repeated,  "I'll  come 
later  anyway — to  see  the  dogs." 

She  nodded,  caught  the  expression 
in  his  eyes,  and  blushed.  And  that 
left  them  both  a  little  constrained  and 
uncommunicative. 

Nor  was  she  less  inclined  to  reticence 
when  at  last  he  had  harnessed  the 
horse,  hooked  up  the  wagon,  piled  in 
his  luggage,  and  taken  the  reins  from 
her  listless  hands. 

"Perhaps  you  don't  think  I  know 
how  to  drive,"  he  said.  "Let  me  in- 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

form  you  that  I  can  drive  one  nag  in 
front  of  another  or  two  nags  in  front 
of  two  others,  or  a  spike!  Have  you 
any  increased  respect  and  admiration 
for  me  now?" 

She  glanced  at  him  sideways,  and 
folded  her  slim  hands  in  her  lap. 

Down  the  sandy  road  and  into  the 
autumn  tinted  woods  they  drove.  Rab- 
bits hopped  ahead  or  scuttled  out  of 
sight;  a  big  cock-grouse,  dusting, 
straightened  up  from  his  agreeable 
wallow,  craned  his  neck  at  them, 
then  rose  on  thundering  wings 
and  burst  away  through  the  leafy 
thickets. 

"I  wonder,"  remarked  Dean,  "wheth- 
er the  Emma  is  still  on  duty." 

She  looked  up  and  laughed:     "The 

135 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

Emma,"  she  replied,  "has  been  on  duty 
ever  since  I  was  a  little  girl." 

"Was  she  just  as  irrational  and  ir- 
responsible in  those  days?" 

"Every  bit,  I  believe." 

"She  reminds  me  of  a  hen,"  he  con- 
cluded, disgustedly,  giving  the  reins  a 
shake;  and  the  fat,  sleek  horse,  sur- 
prised, broke  into  a  partial  trot.  The 
accelerated  pace,  however,  was  only 
temporary;  Dean  glanced  at  his  watch. 

"As  the  fishing  season  is  closed  the 
train  may  be  on  time,"  he  said  sar- 
castically. 

She  laughed  again  and  shook  her 
head:  "It  never  is.  They  say  that 
when  the  engineer  gets  lonesome  he 
stops  the  Emma  and  goes  back  to  the 
baggage  car  for  a  game  of  checkers/* 
136 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"Is  that  really  true?"  he  demanded, 
appalled. 

The  girl  threw  back  her  head  and 
laughed.  And  her  sunbonnet  fell  on 
her  shoulders,  framing  her  cheeks  and 
throat.  And,  at  that,  a  thrill  shot 
through  him  and  his  heart  seemed  to 
cease  beating  for  a  second ; — so  long 
ago,  it  seemed  to  him,  since  the  same 
incident  had  first  revealed  to  him  this 
young  girl's  loveliness. 

Her  laughter  rippled  and  died  out; 
and,  still  smiling,  she  turned  her  head 
away. 

"Did  you  believe  such  nonsense?" 
she  murmured. 

To  him  her  sun-tanned  profile  seemed 
as  delicate  as  though  chiselled  from 
palest  ivory,  tinted  with  carmine  where 
1.37 


ANNE'S   BRIDGE 

the  lips  rested,  sensitively  upon  one  an- 
other. As  he  watched  her  a  shadow 
fell  across  her  face,  quenching  the  lin- 
gering gaiety;  she  drew  a  deeper 
breath,  almost  a  sigh,  as  though  tired. 

And,  after  a  moment: 

"Of  what  were  you  thinking?"  he 
asked  in  a  low  voice. 

She  turned  toward  him  with  the 
directness  of  a  child: 

"I  was  thinking  that  you  are  going 
away,"  she  said  seriously. 

"Are  you  sorry?" 

"Yes,  I  am  sorry.  .  .  .  And  I  was 
thinking,  too,  about  this  client  of  yours 
who  is  going  to  take  away  from  you- 
and  me  the  woods  and  streams,  which 
we  care  for." 

"Do  you  care  for  them?  I  thought 
138 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

it  made  you  happy  to  know  that  you 
were  about  to  escape  them  forever." 

"Yes, — I  have  felt  that  way.  ...  I 
suppose  your  coming  made  a  difference. 
Before  you  came  it  seemed  at  times  as 
though  I  should  die  of  solitude  and 
silence.  ...  I  thought  I  hated  it  all — 
all! — forest,  stream,  those  still  blue 
hills,  and  the  wide  wilderness  of  sky 
beyond — but  it  seems  different  now," 
she  added  with  an  unconscious  sigh. 

"These  August  days  have  been  happy 
ones  for  me,"  he  said,  watching  her. 

She  nodded: 

"I  was  happy,  also.  You  thought  I 
was  not.  But  I  was.  Why,  it  is  the 
most  wonderful  of  any  thing  that  has 
ever  happened  to  me — "  she  turned  to- 
ward him  impulsively; — "think  what  it 

10  139 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

has  meant  to  me,  Mr.  Dean ! — the  daily 
companionship  of  a  man  like  you.  Just 
to  see  you — the  way  you  move  about 
— and  to  hear  a  cultivated  voice  again 
— and  feel  in  my  heart  the  warmth  of 
your  courtesy  and  kindness " 

He  said:  "I  had  no  idea  that  I 
meant  much  to  you.  What  you  say 
makes  me  very  happy  and  proud." 

"You  have  been  kinder  than  you 
know,"  she  murmured,  looking  away 
from  him — "kinder  than  anybody  in 
the  world.  ...  I  wanted  you  to  know 
this — before  you  went  away.  .  .  .  And 
if  I  seemed  indifferent — at  times — or 
inattentive,  or — unresponsive — it  was 
not  really  so.  ...  I  am — that  way — in 
appearance.  But  I  am  not  reticent  or 
sullen  by  nature.  I  am  appreciative— 
140 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

and  grateful — for  kindness.  .  .  .  There 
is  nothing  in  the  world  to  compare  to 
kindness.  And  when  such  a  man  as 
you  shows  it  to  such  a — to  me, — "  she 
turned  and  looked  up  at  him,  and  a 
tremulous  smile  touched  her  lips; — 
"then,"  she  said,  "as  you  say  there  is 
truly  a  reason  for  thanking  God  who — 
who  has  not  until  now  been  very 
c-considerate  toward  me." 

"What  has  this  God  done  to  you?" 
he  asked  gravely. 

"He — abandoned  me." 

"Nobody  should  say  such  a  thing." 

"Christ  said  it." 

He  bent  his  troubled  eyes  on  her  in 

silence.   After  a  while  she  said:    "Even 

Christ  found  pain  hard  to  bear.  .  .  . 

And  if  I  have  ever  said  that  I  did  not 

141 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

believe  in  him,  it  is  not  true.  I  do  be- 
lieve .  .  .  now.  .  .  .  But  I  don't  know 
what  I  shall  come  to  believe — if 
I  may  not  see  you — sometimes — so  that 
you  can  remind  me  that  God  exists — as 
you  once  reminded  me  there  in  the 
woods." 

He  said  unsteadily :  "Could  you  care 
for  me — enough  to  be — my  wife?" 

For  a  moment  she  stared  at  him  in  a 
stunned  way,  then  her  face  grew  white 
as  death. 

"Could  you  care  for  me,  that  way?'* 
he  asked  again. 

She    turned     unconsciouslv    like     a 

•/ 

trapped  creature  seeking  escape,  then 
sat  trembling  on  the  seat. 

He  did  not  touch  her.    After  a  while 
she    doubled    forward,    covering    her 
142 


ANNE'S   BRIDGE 

white  face  with  her  slender  weather- 
stained  hands. 

Two  hours  later  they  drove  up  in 
sight  of  the  single  track. 

He  carried  his  luggage  to  the  edge 
of  the  cross-ties,  then  returned  slowly 
to  where  she  was  seated,  her  young 
head  bowed  in  her  hands. 

For  a  while  she  stood  by  the  wagon 
in  silence.  The  fat  horse  switched  his 
tail  and  snatched  at  leaves.  It  seemed 
to  grow  very  still  on  the  forest  edge. 

Then,  from  far  in  the  north,  came  a 
long-drawn  sound,  distant,  shrill,  petu- 
lant. The  Emma  was  on  her  way. 

"Good-bye,"  he  said. 

She  lifted  her  face  from  her  hands; 
it  was  white  as  a  flower. 

He  said,  quietly:  "I  shall  return  any- 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

way.  When  I  come  again  give  me  your 
answer.  If  you  find  that  you  cannot 
care  for  me — that  way — it  will  be  aH 
right.  Our  friendship  will  endure  any- 
way. .  .  .  Will  it  not?" 

She  made  a  tremulous  sound  of  as- 
sent. 

"Then — good-bye." 

He  leaned  forward  and  took  her 
narrow  hand  between  his.  It  lay  there, 
lifeless ;  and  he  touched  it  with  his  lips. 

"Dearest — dearest — "  he  whispered. 

Suddenly  she  strained  away  from 
him,  wrenched  her  hand  free,  covering 
her  eyes  again,  breathless,  trembling: 

"No,"   she  stammered,   "no,   no  no! 

You  must  not  come  back!     I  can't  see 

you  again — after  this.     I   can  not! — • 

I  can  not.    Oh — oh — you  don't  know — 

144 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

you  never  can  know — what  you  have 
done — what  you  have  done! " 

He  stood  a  moment  looking  at  her 
where  she  had  shrunk  aside  cowering 
against  the  back  of  the  wagon  seat. 

Then  he  turned  and  ran  for  the 
track,  the  Emma's  raucous  warning 
filling  his  ears. 


VI 

He  wrote  her  when  he  reached  New 
York.  She  did  not  answer  his  letter. 

In  October  he  wrote  again  from 
San  Francisco,  saying  that  he  was  un- 
able to  go  to  Anne's  Bridge  for  the 
shooting  and  that  business  matters 
were  likely  to  detain  him  for  some 
weeks  yet. 

She  did  not  reply. 

In  November  he  wrote  again  from 
New  Orleans,  a  gay,  optimistic,  cheer- 
ful letter,  gently  rallying  her  on  her 
talent  for  voluminous  correspondence, 
146 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

pretending  that  he  found  it  physically 
impossible  to  answer  all  her  letters. 

Then,  in  more  serious  vein,  he  told 
her  that  his  business  interests  were 
likely  to  detain  him  for  some  time;  that 
as  far  as  regarded  the  business  trans- 
action in  which  she  was  concerned,  she 
need  have  no  apprehensions  because 
the  deal  was  nearly  ready  for  closing. 

Nor  need  you  remain  under  any  unhappy 
apprehension  regarding  my  friendship  for 
you.  It  is  a  solid,  sane,  enduring  friend- 
ship, unshakable,  ineradicable. 

Merely  because  you  may  not  care  to  be- 
come my  wife  is  no  reason  that  our  friend- 
ship should  falter  or  become  less  firm. 
There  are  many  days  ahead  of  us — many 
forests  to  invite  us,  many  streams  to  lure 
and  welcome  the  two  comrades  who  gave 
such  a  good  account  of  themselves  and  of 
the  trout  at  Anne's  Bridge. 

147 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

You  are  my  ideal  of  a  comrade,  of  a  com- 
panion. And  if,  also,  you  happen  to  be  my 
ideal  as  a  wife,  is  that  anything  to  make 
you  unhappy? 

You  need  have  no  fear  that  I  shall  not 
know  how  to  accept  any  answer  you  care  to 
make  me.  Love  is  not  to  be  commandeered, 
nor  persuaded,  nor  implored.  Love  is,  or 
is  not;  love  offers  and  is  offered;  but  love 
never  merely  accepts. 

Strong  characters  know  whether  or  not 
they  love.  Yours  is  a  strong  character. 
You  know  already;  you  know  now,  at  this 
moment,  whether  or  not  you  love  me. 

If  love  is  denied  to  us,  then  there  remains 
as  noble  a  sentiment,  as  fine,  as  lofty  for 
us  to  thank  God  for.  I  mean  our  comrade- 
ship with  all  it  implies  of  unselfish  friend- 
ship and  disinterested  desire  for  each  other's 
happiness  and  content. 

Two  such  people  as  you  and  I  ought  to 
be  worth  something  in  the  world,  and  to 
the  world. 

And  so  you  must  not  be  unhappy  if  you 
cannot  give  me  what  I  have  asked.  Nor 

148 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

shall  I  remain  unhappy  in  losing  what  I 
have  desired  of  you,  and  of  no  other  woman 
I  have  ever  seen. 

Because — except  for  that  single  miracle 
— if  it  must  be  denied  me — there  remains  so 
much — everything  in  you  that  I  care  for, 
desire,  admire,  and  need. 

My  business  is  going  well.  I  never  told 
you,  I  think,  what  my  business  is.  It  is 
this :  when  people  want  to  build  any  sort  of 
a  railway  they  sometimes  come  and  confer 
with  me  and  with  several  of  my  acquaint- 
ances. And  it  is  our  business  to  find  the 
ways  and  means  to  build  and  finance  the 
road. 

And  here  is  a  bit  of  news  that  will  amuse 
you.  This  client  of  mine  who  is  to  take 
over  practically  the  entire  township  of 
Anne's  Bridge  desires  to  have  a  better  track, 
better  equipment,  and  better  service  on  that 
line  which  is  now  presided  over  by  the  soli- 
tary and  capricious  Emma. 

So  I'm  afraid  the  Emma's  casual  days  are 
numbered,  and  I'm  very  sure  that,  in  future, 
the  trout  under  the  iron  bridge  may  remain 

149 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

there  in  security,  undisturbed  by  engineers. 

On  my  way  North  I  am  obliged  to  stop 
for  a  while  in  the  various  towns  where  peo- 
ple seem  to  desire  to  construct  electric  roads 
and  that  sort  of  thing.  But  I  am  slowly 
heading  for  New  York;  and  after  that  my 
path  leads  to  Anne's  Bridge. 

Everything  necessary  to  conclude  the 
transaction  involving  your  property  is  now 
ready.  You  and  I  can  drive  over  to  Saga- 
more City  with  the  deed  and  have  every- 
thing made  right  and  tight  whenever  you 
desire  to  do  so  after  my  arrival  at  Anne's 
Bridge. 

And  the  minute  the  title  passes  a  certified 
cheque  will  be  placed  in  your  hands. 

I  hope  this  letter  will  make  you  happy — 
as  happy  as  it  has  made  me  to  write  it. 

If  you  care  to  write  me  a  line,  you  know 
how  glad  I'd  be  to  have  it 

You  know,  too,  deep  in  your  loyal  heart 
that  our  friendship  is  worth  while — well 
worth  whatever  breath  of  fire  may  pass  over 
it  to  make  it  strong,  pure,  and  abiding. 

If  that  chastening  fire  must  pass  over  it, 

150 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

or  if  the  pure  flame  of  love  refine  it,  either 
way  it  shall  be  well  for  us. 
You  must  never  doubt  it. 

Your  friend, 

JAMES  DEAN,  JR. 

Toward  the  end  of  December  he  ar- 
rived in  New  York.  There  was  a  let- 
ter from  her  at  his  office: 

It  is  better  after  all  that  you  come  to 
Anne's  Bridge.  Not  for  the  reason  you 
may  desire.  But  I  cannot  write  you — I 
cannot  write  down  what  must  be  said  to 
you — what  you  must  be  made  to  under- 
stand. 

God  has  been  kind  since  I  knew  you — 
as  kind  as  you  are.  And  the  most  wonder- 
ful things  He  has  given  me  are  these  letters 
from  you.  Nobody  can  take  them  away; 
nobody  now  can  take  away  from  me  the 
moments  I  have  passed  with  them  here  alone 
in  the  house. 

All  that  has  become  part  of  my  life.     It 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

must  remain  as  part — with  the  moments  I 
have  lived  with  your  letters — even  if  our 
friendship  ever  falters  and  the  days  come 
when  we  see  each  other  no  more. 

But  it  is  better  for  you  to  come  here  once. 
It  seems  to  be  the  only  way.  I  have  tried 
to  write  you  what  I  must  say,  but  I  cannot. 
Yet,  it  must  be  said;  it  is  necessary  that 
you  understand. 

When  you  come,  drive  over  in  a  sleigh 
from  Sagamore  City.  I  have  no  sleigh  and 
the  snow  is  too  deep  in  the  woods  for  my 
wagon. 

This  is  all  I  can  write. 

Your  friend, 

ANGELINA  ALLENDE. 

He  answered,  cheerfully  but  briefly, 
saying  that  he'd  be  up  in  a  few  days. 

A  day  or  two  later  came  a  telegram 
from  him.  The  rural  deliverer  brought 
it  on  Christmas  Eve. 

She  had  been  sitting  all  day  by  the 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

kitchen  window  looking  out  at  the 
woods  across  the  snow.  As  usual  one 
of  his  letters  lay  in  her  lap,  her  hands 
were  clasped  over  it. 

When  the  jingle  of  bells  in  the  early 
dusk  aroused  her  she  rose,  swaying  a 
trifle,  one  hand  pressed  to  her  heart; 
then  steadying  herself  she  walked  to 
the  snow-choked  front  door,  took  the 
telegram,  thanked  the  carrier  in  a  faint 
voice,  and  returned  to  the  kitchen  to 
read  it  by  candle  light. 

He  would  be  there  in  an  hour  or  so: 
that  was  the  purport  of  the  scribbled 
lines  which  blurred  under  her  eyes. 

After  a  while  she  rose  as  though 
very  tired,  and  went  slowly  out  to  the 
barn. 

His    dogs    greeted    her    frantically, 

153 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

and  she  petted  them  and  turned  them 
loose.  For  a  few  moments  she  watched 
them  playing  about  like  foxes  in  the 
snow;  then  she  went  slowly  into  the 
house  and  entered  her  bedroom. 

There  was  a  locked  trunk  there. 
When  she  found  the  key  she  unlocked 
it,  raised  the  lid,  knelt  down,  and  drew 
from  its  depths  a  folded  gown  of  gray 
wool. 

There  were  cuffs  there,  too,  and  a 
collarette,  and  an  apron,  and  a  cap 
such  as  is  worn  by  young  girls  at  a 
fashionable  cooking  school — a  rather 
pretty,  round  cap  of  some  sheer  stuff 
relieved  by  two  starched  wings. 

She  rose  to  her  feet  and  undressed, 
letting  the  worn  garments  fall  to  the 
floor  around  her  feet.  Then,  stepping 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

clear  of  them,  she  dressed  herself  in 
the  gray  wool  gown,  collar,  cuffs, 
apron,  cap,  and  all. 

There  was  a  pair  of  low,  square-toed, 
steel  buckled  shoes  in  the  bottom  of 
the  trunk  and  an  armful  of  copybooks. 

She  put  on  the  shoes,  took  the  books 
in  her  arms,  closed  the  trunk,  and  went 
into  the  kitchen. 

There  was  a  chair  by  the  white  pine 
table.  She  seated  herself,  placed  the 
copybooks  on  the  table,  and,  folding 
her  arms  over  them,  dropped  her  head 
in  the  hollow  of  her  elbow. 

And  here  she  waited  his  coming,  her 
head  bowed  in  her  arms  under  the 
candle  light. 

It  seemed  a  long  time  to  wait.  She 
had  been  afraid  of  tears ;  but  none  fell. 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

And  at  last  she  heard  sleigh-bells 
very  near,  and  then  the  snort  and 
stamp  of  horses;  heard  his  dogs'  loud 
greeting,  and  his  laughter;  heard  his 
voice  bidding  the  driver  a  Merry 
Christmas  in  gay  farewell. 

For  an  instant  she  was  afraid  that 
her  knees  were  giving  way,  but  she 
managed  to  rise.  Then  she  moved 
towrard  the  door,  gained  it,  rested  a 
moment,  laid  a  shaking  hand  on  the 
knob,  dragged  it  open.  And  he  stepped 
in  out  of  the  starry  darkness  with  his 
dogs  leaping  about  him,  and  very  quiet- 
ly took  her  into  his  arms. 

For  a  moment  her  head  lay  on  his 
shoulder,  white  face  uplifted  very  still. 

"Do  you  love  me?"  he  said. 

She  looked  up  into  his  face,  dumbly. 
156 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"Dear,"  he  said,  "could  you  care  for 
me  that  way?" 

She  summoned  every  atom  of 
strength;  her  voice  was  only  a 
whisper : 

"Look  at  me,"  she  said — "look  at 
these  clothes  I  wear!  Do  you  know 
what  they  are?" 

He  did  not  appear  to  comprehend. 
She  released  herself  from  his  arms  and 
stepped  back,  unsteadily. 

"Have  you  never  seen  a  woman 
dressed  as  I  am?"  she  stammered. 
"This  is  the  uniform  of  the  Samaritan 
Reformatory  for  Women.  Do  you 
understand?  I  wore  it  for  three  years. 
Now  do  you  understand?" 

She  turned  and  stretched  out  her 
arm  toward  the  kitchen  where  the  can- 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

die    gleamed    above    the    pile    of    copy 
books. 

"There  are  my  prison  books,"  she 
said, — "under  the  candle  there.  My 
name  is  on  them.  The  Reformatory 
stamp  is  on  them,  too.  Now  do  you— 
understand!—  Her  voice  broke  and 
she  turned  blindly  away;  and  was  in 
his  arms  again  with  her  first  swaying 
step. 

"Child,"  he  said  gently,  "I  knew  all 
that  long  ago.  If  that  is  what  has 
troubled  you  let  it  trouble  you  no 
longer." 

She  trembled  so  violently  that  he 
held  her  closer  and  half  supported. 

There   was    a   silence,    then   a   faint 
scratching  on  the  stairs;  and  a  hoarse 
voice  from  the  darkness: 
158 


On  this  Christmas  Eve  I  have  come 
the  only  gift  I  desire  " 


.for 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"Trouble!  Plenty  of  trouble.  Oh, 
my  God!" 

"Oh,  my  God!"  he  repeated  staring 
at  the  parrot,  suddenly  and  terribly 
aware  where  the  bird  had  learned  his 
dreary  monologue  of  despair. 

He  gazed  around  him  at  the  shadows 
in  that  sad  and  ancient  house;  glanced 
down  at  the  trembling  girl  in  his 
arms.  Her  prison  cap  had  fallen  back, 
and  the  dark  hair  clustered  to  her 
shoulders  framing  her  pale  face  and 
throat. 

"Dear,"  he  whispered,  "look  at  me/* 

After  a  long  while  her  dark  eyes 
opened.  He  bent  his  head;  their  lips 
touched  tremulously. 

"Do  you  want  me,  now?"  she 
breathed. 

i59 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"Yes;  on  this  Christmas  Eve  I  have 
come  here  to  Anne's  Bridge  for  the 
only  gift  I  desire — to  the  only  being  in 
all  the  world  who  has  the  power  to 
give  it." 

"How  can  you — love  me?" 

"How  can  I  refrain  from  loving 
you?" 

Suddenly  the  tears  blinded  her. 

"Dearest,"  he  said  under  his  breath, 
— "dearest — dearest!"  and  drew  her 
arms  to  his  neck. 

They  stood  so,  very  still,  her  wet 
cheek  against  his  breast,  her  little 
weather-roughened  hands  clutching  his 
coat,  tightening  there  as  though  it 
were  the  Cross. 

There  came  a  voice  from  the  dark- 
ness of  the  stairs: 

160 


ANNE'S    BRIDGE 

"Trouble — plenty  of  trouble,  plenty 
of  trouble !  I  wish  you  a  Merry  Christ- 
mas!" 

THE  END 

CD 


000058195     9 


